


Kapp Eða Kaldr

by Darkarashi



Series: The Courage and The Cold [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe-ish, Angst, Bloodplay, F/M, Femdom, In which communication would probably solve a lot of problems, In which there are shenanigans unrelenting, Knifeplay, Odin's A+ Parenting, Odin's A+ everything, Rough Sex, Thor: The Dark World spoilers kinda, Vampirism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-01-13 05:39:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 40
Words: 165,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1214752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkarashi/pseuds/Darkarashi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keshaara, Dovahkiin, Hero and Savior of Skyrim, had thought her days of incredible journeys and fates had been long over. She had sacrificed her freedom for that of another, and in doing so, had sealed a fate she had never known of. But that had been long ago, and her life had carried on. Loki had been sent to his home, as was needed. She returned home after defeating the World-Eater, and ever since then, she had lived her life. </p><p>She had not expected her life to change again. Not since Loki had fallen out of the tree had she experienced something so life-changing. </p><p>But she was Dovahkiin. And the end had not yet come for her, apparently. Now she must contend with the next great adventure in her life. An adventure in places far from home, with people and creatures she had never seen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bjóða

The Tale of the Jotun Prince

* * *

 

 

It had been months, now, since he had been in Skyrim. The memories were less poignant, less at the forefront of his mind. There were days where he thought that he had only had a dream of Keshaara, of everything that had happened. He could have…prison was wildly unstimulating to his mind, and he dreamed often of things that seemed real in the moment, but faded like mist by morning.

 Not Keshaara though. He had her books. He had the drawings. Her drawings - of her as a Jotun. He still had those, hidden from the prying eyes of those who walked by his cell. Only when it was dark and he was assured that no one else was around would he pull them from their hiding place and run his fingers over the well-worn pages. She was still alive in those pictures, and it was like they were back at that first house of hers, and he was seeing her for the first time. He had the books too, and every day, he would ensorcell the covers of them, hiding them in plain sight so that he could study every last word and find a way to bring her back to him.

 She would be useful. She was powerful and if she agreed to his plans, he would have a champion to challenge Odin’s ruling with. A Champion he had otherwise been denied because no one would speak for him. Keshaara would. She always would speak for him. 

 He missed her. Not that those words would ever leave his lips, but he did. Keshaara had been bright and warm and mercurial and temperamental and there had been so much more to her than he had originally though. She had challenged him. Truly challenged him. She had gone toe-to-toe with him and never once cut him down for something that was anything but truth.

 The fact that she was good with her tongue and body was just…it was a contributing factor. There was no need for him to lie to himself. He missed her. He missed how she felt curled in his arms. The casual way she touched him. If he thought about it too long, the space between his knuckles where she had last kissed him burned.

 Absentmindedly, he found himself rubbing the spot. He would catch himself doing just that at random times throughout his days, as if it would somehow help him remember how she felt against him. The smell of her skin…sometimes he thought he could smell her in the air, as if she had walked by, or was close to him. He did not know why, but that was the worst thing in her absence. The nagging feeling of her just barely being there, but not there at all made him miss her all the more.

 Her books, her image, her scent, her everything. It was like Keshaara was some spirit plaguing him, urging him to work harder to solve the mystery presented to him. If others could be called by using their dragon names – and he knew that those names had power – Keshaara could be called too. She just had never told him her name, and he had little skill with this tongue of Dragons. It had taken him weeks to even understand the odd grammar that the dragons used, and weeks beyond that for him to understand how a name could be constructed.

 Now, every day when he awoke he would re-read the list of translated words Keshaara had painstakingly written down in her tiny, precise handwriting. The words bled together like they always did, and after only a few minutes, he shut the book (with more force than intended) and lay back on his bed.

 He needed her name. He needed to figure out her name, like she had found his. Krojunsekrah. Sorcerer-King of the Cold. That was him. He was that, his name was everything about him and the word on her tongue had never sounded so sweet as anything else she had said. It was a name. His name. But when he said it to the cold dry air of his prison cell, it sounded hollow. The word was lacking the _something_ it possessed when Keshaara whispered it in his ear. The last time he had heard her say it, she was curled next to him, skin to skin, and he had been half-convinced that had been a dream.

 Loki shook his head. He needed focus. The time in this prison (forty paces on the long wall, half that on the short) had made his mind prone to wandering. If his mind did not fixate on Keshaara, on bringing her to Asgard to fight for him as Champion – a proper champion, not whatever the Daedra made her be – he was liable to spend days picking at his clothing or flipping a cup over his head because there was nothing else to do. It was the slowest of all tortures. There was boredom, and then there was being the smartest person in the vicinity and having no one to talk to, no one to engage with, no one to do anything with. Being annoying and irritating had quickly begun to irritate him because everyone was so _predictable_ and his actions were predictable. Thor would pout and then yell, or threaten. Sif would threaten, the Warriors Three would threaten, his fa- **Odin** never came to visit. No one interesting came to visit.

 He was so damned bored.

 So he forced himself to look back to the book and really read what was in front of him. He had to figure out her name. He had run through thousands of iterations of words that seemed as if they would have suited her. Thousands and thousands of names that never seemed to lay right on his tongue as he said them, all written down to see if he could perhaps find some second, hidden meaning to them all. The words of this language were slippery, sliding off of his tongue even as he spoke them, slipping from him like the mists of morning before the sun.

 “Krojunsekrah,” he muttered beneath his breath, trying to get the feel for how this name should sound and how it felt for the hundredth time. The feeling of the word, however, was lost in the sudden rush of emotion that always bubbled up whenever he said _his_ name.

 Because it sounded like her when he said it, it reminded him of every time she had said his name, Lokil, Loki, _Krojunsekrah_ , all of them his name on her tongue. It reminded him of how her lips would sneer over his name when she had found reason to be upset with him, how they curled over his name when she whispered it in fear, and when she gasped it, choking on the syllables in pleasure. It was hard to miss how the words actually felt in his mouth when so much feeling came with the word itself. But the word on his mouth felt right. It felt proper and it stuck to him.

 He knew that if he found Keshaara’s name it would feel the same. He could call her down from Nirn, to his side again. Loki felt a pang in his heart. He did miss her. He really did. She had made him feel alive, and had included her in everything. She had made him part of her life, even if it was only for a short time. He missed that.

 “Krojunsekrah.”

 He was in Skyrim again, the cold air alighting upon his skin as easily as her touches had done. It was her voice he heard in his mind. In his mind’s eye, he could see her again, in all of her glory, standing tall and fearless beside him. She turned her head towards him, her eyes bright and sunburst-orange. A smile danced on her face for but a moment, and then she was looking away from him, towards the snow-dusted horizon.

 “Vahriizaamlostahkrin.”

 The words were not his, he knew. They were words that he knew, of a surety, but putting them together in that order was not something he would have ever expected. No, something far deeper than what he was had spoken the words that had come out of his mouth, and for a moment, Loki was afraid.

 Keshaara looked back to him, a wide smile on her face, and the vision exploded into light and soundless words. Loki was back in himself, back in his prison, back and far and further from her, but he had her name. Her name, the bedamned name that told him more of her than he had ever wanted to know, her name – Sworn Slave Have Courage. Four words, not three. Four words that spoke of a deep truth he had never been expected to hear. Keshaara was always to be a slave. She had always sworn to some destiny that she had no knowledge of until she had crossed the borders of Skyrim.

 And his name had only ever meant him to have glory. She had spoken truth. Her name…

 He shook the thoughts away. He had her name. He had what he needed. He would summon her and then have a Champion capable of besting anyone who stood against him. Keshaara would be freed from the land that had enslaved her, and he would be free himself. They would both get what they wanted.

 He just needed to ensure that he was well prepared for what chaos she would bring with her. It had not been long, and she was certainly going to be upset with him for separating her from her family. But she would like it in Asgard. She would be happy here, away from Skyrim. The justification was easy for him to make. Keshaara had been upset at being trapped in Skyrim, and he had found a way to repay her for what she had done for him.

 Because the images and _words_ of the daedra who had extracted a promise from her in exchange for him would not leave his late-night thoughts ever since he had been tossed back into his prison. He had researched the word that the daedra had used when trying to taunt Keshaara into abandoning her desire to see him freed back upon his own realm. He had recognized it as a dragon-word, and the implication of being Alunsegein was not lost on him. Not that he thought that there was truth in what the daedra had been saying.

 They were harbingers of chaos, like he was, and lying was his nature. Still, Keshaara deserved more than a life of servitude. She deserved to be the Queen he knew she could be. She deserved thousands of things, but most of all, she deserved something better than that mortal realm of death and destruction where nothing awaited her but pain.

 They both benefitted. He stood, straightening his prison garb and looking up. He had no idea how this summoning would work, even though he had summoned a fair few things in his time, but if he took how he was tossed back into Asgard as an indication, she should appear where he was, called to his side by the storm-voice of dragons.

 Loki was certain he could call her – he had the power and ability, of course he did. He had her name and a need. He needed her by his side again so that he could fulfill his destiny.

 “Vahriizaamlostahkrin.”

 He said her name again, trying to catch the proper intonation in his throat so that he could summon her. The words felt less powerful when he said them. When Keshaara shouted her voice to the storms, the very earth shook – all of reality bent its will to hers. By comparison, his sounded small. Timid. Tremulous even.

 “Vahriizaamlostahkrin.”

 This time, there was more force in his words, and he felt the stirring of…something in the air. The guards looked to him, confused and wary of the sudden rippling of power they felt emanating from the cell containing the most dangerous being in all of Asgard. A Jotun, after all, was no thing to be trusted.

 Loki, for his part, wanted to feel the crush of power that Keshaara wielded. The storm voice, the tongue of dragons – he had sat and observed as she had done mighty things with her voice alone and he would never lie and say he did not want that power for himself. Even if she had said that only the Dovahkiin could truly utilize the dragon’s words for themselves, Loki did not thing that was truth. She may have believed it to be that, and in doing so, kept him from tasting any lies, but that did not keep it from being a lie, regardless.

 “ _Vahriizaamlostahkrin_.”

 The world tipped for a moment. Just a moment, he felt the power he felt, but it was gone too fast and Keshaara was not beside him. There was a tickle in his throat, and he took it to be the beginning of the power he needed. He could do this. The thought thrilled him. He could truly manage this. He could do this. The power of the storm-words was not beyond him. He possessed the same power that she did and he could bring her to him.

 “ _Vahriizaamlostahkrin!_ ”

 The words burned his throat bloodied, and darkness rushed him. Loki collapsed, but not before the brunt of the shout shook the windows and pillars of all of Asgard, and caught the attention of everyone who could hear. The guards collapsed, clutching their ears and shuddering.

 Keshaara had been called. Loki opened his eyes, roused from his blackout, looking around expectantly. The guards had been called to restrain him again, he was sure – the power in that shout had reached far beyond what should be possible. His magic should have been bound and it was not.

 Yggdrasil itself had been shaken to the roots.

 But Keshaara was…


	2. Detta

The Tale of the Dragonborn

* * *

 

 

Ah, the years had been kind and unkind. She had lived a full life…and then another…and another…and the years still dragged ever onwards. Without stop. Even as Farkas faded and died, slain in the catacombs he had told her to take him to so that he may die in combat. The Draugr deathlord had been her husband’s death knell, and when Keshaara saw to that creature’s death, she had Farkas interred where he had fallen, at the pinnacle of an underground cavern, before a Word Wall. The masons of the nearest city had made more money in that month than they had in all of the years before. Farkas had been a good man to her, and Keshaara gave him every respect in death that he deserved.

 She mourned him as appropriate, standing watch over him for the month and a day that was appropriate for someone who meant so much to her.

 Keshaara watched over many bodies. Watched over more and more of her friends as they asked the same favor from the Dovahkiin. She stood watch over Aela soon after Farkas had died, and Jzargo years later. Her friends faded and fell from her, and she watched over them all in turn. When her son died after a life full and abounding, she mourned him as she had mourned her husband. When her grandchildren began to fade, Keshaara withdrew from the world. She retreated to Lakeview Manor, ceding the houses she had owned in the Holds to the grandchildren of the children she had adopted.

 Keshaara, Dovahkiin, faded. She became a few things. Kasha, the hermit, made few appearances as the years wore on, but there was always something for her to do. Something that needed doing. She appeared when she was needed, and vanished when she was not. Keshaara knew her place had vanished long ago, so her time spent among other people was…limited.

 She made regular enough visits to the college. As the only Archmage to ever willingly retire (she was too old, so old, and there were better things for her than to sit and freeze for the rest of her days. The cold irritated her now, anyway), she was occasionally content to return to the College and see what new things had come into the forte of the practicioners. She would watch for a day, a week, a month or so, taking classes, learning and talking with those around her.

 It would be enjoyable for a short period of time, but eventually, she would tire of being around people, of being so damned cold (beds were so cold when no one shared them with you), and she would return to Lakeview, to sit in her loneliness and the comfort of her home.

 The day started like the thousands of days before it had. She awoke, alone, in a house once filled with family. Her bed…well she was actually sleeping in the guest room, as she had done for years. It no longer felt right to sleep in the bed she and Farkas had shared when he had aged and needed to comfort of a home outside of a large city. Her children’s beds? Well she could hardly look at those. So she slept in the guest room, removed from the things that made her think too hard about what had been lost because of a promise given unto a Daedra.

 But it had been a morning like all the others. The air was crisp, but not so cold as to cause her breath to mist. There was the smell of…frost on the air, a little unusual for the areas near Lakeview Manor this time of year, but Keshaara was wont to forgive Nature’s capriciousness in favor of enjoying the last few weeks of balmy weather before the snow drifts came in from Markarth.

 Her body, aged as it was, did not creak or snap as she went about her morning routine. First, there was wood to be chopped for the huge hearthfire she sat in front of, alone, with all of the other chairs arranged in a circle around her. That took a good thirty minutes with how deeply rhythmic Keshaara preferred that chore to be done. It was slow work, because she let it be just that. There was nothing else in her day that needed urgent tending to. Maybe the thieves guild would ask for help, or the Dark Brotherhood would come to visit, but that was becoming more and more rare as the years wore on and all of those she had once been with faded into dust.

 Both of those guilds had been restored, and she had been given the highest accolades by them both. Keshaara had become many things in the years since her last greatest adventure, but she was still most proud of the title Dovahkiin. The ire at it had faded as she had aged, even if it was still present. There was nothing she could do about it, and there was no point fighting what could not be fought. She was Dovahkiin, born to serve courageously for as long as her too-long-life lasted.

 She hefted her woodaxe over her shoulder, and went about stacking the new wood pile nearer her side door. The first indication of something coming in the air was a whisper behind her ear in a voice she had long otherwise forgotten. Startled, Keshaara yelped, and spun, her axe coming around to bisect the being that had snuck up behind her – and only met air. Her heartbeat fluttered wildly. That had…it had sounded like…but it couldn’t be…

 “Loki?”

 The wind said nothing more. But she was wary. That had sounded like Loki, whispering to her and for a moment, it had been as if he was just behind her, saying something that she had just barely not managed to catch. Her orange eyes scanned the area, because she was expecting a trick, someone to jump out at her, someone to attack, _something_ , but there was nothing. No one came, and she saw no movement.

 She furrowed her brows, and went about her day.

 Throughout the next week, the odd occurrences continued. Keshaara would hear Loki’s voice (she had not imagined his voice in years, not since the months after Farkas had died and her loneliness had prevailed) at all the oddest of moments. There would be a chill in the air, and then a whisper that came from nowhere, but always seemed to be located just behind her. No matter how she was turned, where she was looking, the voice was always behind her.

 As the week carried on and the days turned ever closer to winter, the whispering only intensified. Now it was nearly constant – words she did not know were muttered into her ear by an invisible presence every moment of her waking days. She found herself constantly shaking her head, trying to dismiss the words, the incessant words, that crawled into her ears. She was half convinced she was going crazy because she was only hearing Loki. It could only be Loki, no one else spoke that tongue, or spoke with that deeply sinful tone.

 Nothing she did drowned the sounds out, but after a few days longer, she reached the point where she could not allow herself to care. Loki’s voice was not leaving her alone, but the words were soothing now, instead of grating. The familiarity of his voice in her ears thrilled her after a long enough time. She had missed him. He had been taken so abruptly, without any chance for her to really bid him farewell. He had been…perhaps not a friend, but she had trusted him far more deeply than she had trusted someone in such a short amount of time.

 The words of Jyggalag occasionally reminded her that she had given something up when she had bid him farewell, but the years had a way of mollifying any feeling she may have once held for him. Keshaara had no way to know if Jyggalag had actually been telling the truth. It was possible he had been lying to her, trying to get something from her to make her succumb to some manner of chaos or a better order or _something_ , but without Loki around to actually test the waters with (finding an Alunsegein for true was something so terribly rare that she did not dare to even hope for it) she had no idea. That had not bothered her for years, but now, perhaps, it did.

 She found herself responding back to the words, talking to Loki as if he were still with her, just refusing to reveal himself (she had even gone so far as to use a few detect life spells and scrolls to make sure he had not made himself invisible to her). His unfamiliar language was almost soothing as it wormed into her. She did not often have people near her, around her, talking to her, not anymore. She had lived too long to really allow herself to know anyone else. The Mer were longer of life than she, but she could not bring herself to rub elbows with them. She ached for the company of those like her, anyone like her, and she remembered Loki fondly.

 So she went about her days, now plagued by the whispers of a man she knew to be long dead, and long, long removed from her. It was halfway pleasant most days, to feel like someone, however annoying, was still with her, talking from beyond the graves he must have fallen into in the long time since they had been together. Not together romantically. Well at least not in the normal sense of the words.

 Why was she fixated on that. No, she shook her head, scattering the thoughts. The whispers had been affecting her, apparently. She would wake up in the morning and wait, patiently, for the whispers to start, and at night, they would lull her to sleep. For the first time in ages, she felt herself again, as she had back in the twenty-third year, and the wonderous feeling of it all after so long had wormed deeply into her.

 Then came the day. _The_ day.

 She did not know why she put her old steel armor on when she woke up that morning, but her instincts said it was necessary. Instinct had guided her for so long that she did not even bother to protest the urges in her. She readied a pack she had not worn on her hip in ages, putting more of her armor into the pouch, along with her favorite books, and books she knew would be important to her. There was even, after a moment of pause, her finest robes and jewelry placed inside as well, next to the heavy embroidered furs Farkas had given her as an anniversary present before he passed away. She was readying herself for some sort of journey, she knew.

 But Keshaara did not know where or why she felt like going, only that it felt like…she was already halfway there. The thought did not scare her, or make her wary, only happy. Something new would be welcome. She had traveled every inch of Skyrim in her years, walking out the lines that marked the line of territory. There were precious few caves she had not explored, ruins she had not been in, places and mines that had not once seen her. As she walked through her house, she found herself mentally saying goodbye to everything around her. Her house at Lakeview had been home for so long, but it had been lonely for so much longer. The feeling that something fantastic was just moments from happening would not leave her.

 She exited her home, locking the door behind her (not that it would matter, the road that had once gone just past her front door was long disused), and placing her key in her pouch. It was the last distinct thing she remembered of Skyrim.

 The trees trembled, the Roarer above her flashed deep green and bright gold, and her name was shouted through the sky. Keshaara looked to the heavens, the darkened skies slowly losing stars, as if they were being snuffed out by an invisible force.

 She frowned. That did not seem right…or good. Suddenly, trepidation slunk into her, and she reached for her familiar, favorite axe. Something was actually wrong. The happy buzz in her head faded, and like a spell being lifted from her, everything felt off all at once. But the magic had already been tightened around her.

 “ _Vahriizaamlostahkrin!_ _”_

The skies opened, and blinding light flashed behind her eyes. She felt a pull behind her navel, and then there was nothingness. She was floating – flying – being flung – through empty space, hurtling towards an unknown destination. Before her, a shimmering tree made of stars came into view, glittering like the constellations that dictated the positioning of her skills and attributes. It was…beautiful.

 The lack of air was starting to affect her. Keshaara gasped for oxygen that just was not there, and her vision started to tilt in the way that alerted her that she had not breathed properly in too long of a time. The tree of stars was rushing towards her, as if she was falling down at it, the branches reaching up to grasp at her. It had seemed so massive, but as she got closer, it seemed to diminish in size until it was the size of any other tree she had seen back in Skyrim.

 The danger rang in her ears as her blood pounded, trying to bring nonexistent energy to her. She reached for a branch to stop her fall (oh Divines, she was falling and there was nothing beneath the tree and if she fell through the tree there was nothing else and she would die and float forever in this void and that was terrifying), and the first branch smacked her square in the mouth. Blood rushed in, filling her with the cloying, coppery taste. There was an acute sense of loss as she fell further from the branch – almost as if she had missed something by not managing to grab the branch. She fell backwards, and her back hit the next branch of the tree, shaking the entire thing. Keshaara slid and fell further. Panic rose like bile in her throat and she fell further. She missed the entirety of the next few branches. Only the roots were beneath her now and beyond that, nothingness.

 The void reached for her.

 She reached for the nearest root, not caring that it was cold to her touch, only that her grip was strong enough to stop her freefall. The stars splintered under her grip, and consumed her.

 Keshaara screamed as she fell, terrified that she was going to die, and be swallowed by the void.

 She hit the ground with enough force to rattle her bones. Snow was all around her, falling on her face. It was not, however, the snow of Skyrim. It tasted different to her. It felt different on her skin – much colder than anything else she had felt. Keshaara sat up, looking around in a daze. This was a place she had never been.

 She did not know what had happened. She did not know where she was, only that it was not Skyrim. Slowly, she stood, looking for any sort of landmark to calibrate herself against…but there was nothing.

Well nothing except a very large creature rushing towards her. A large blue creature who looked like Loki had all those years ago, except taller and much more pissed-off-looking. Keshaara did not hesitate. She scrambled to her feet, and in a flurry of snow, Keshaara bolted. She did not know where she was going, only that she needed to be gone. She did not want that thing to touch her. She ran.


	3. Náliga

The Tale of the Jotun Prince

* * *

 

_Where was she_ _,_ his mind tittered. There had been a great earthquake that had shook Asgard to the core, and for a moment, he had thought she was arriving…but then nothing. The guards had all looked at him with accusations in their eyes, but no one had _said_ anything directly to him. One had rushed off, undoubtedly to make a report to Odin or some other high-ranking guardsman. Undoubtedly, Loki would be in trouble shortly and summoned before the All-Father, but it would not matter, because Keshaara would be his Champion, and so championed, he could vie for freedom.

 No, after the tremors stopped, there was silence. Silence unending, it seemed. For a surety, elsewhere in the city there was panic, screaming and caterwauling from those who are given over to such things. Not Loki though. He was waiting. Keshaara should be coming. Keshaara would be coming. He could practically taste her magic in the air, the curious blend of foreign seiðr that belonged to her, and her alone. It was so close.

 He turned his head towards the roof of his cell, waiting for the splitting of the skies that would indicate Keshaara had arrived and he could begin to work towards his freedom. Nothing else came, however. Nothing but the scent of blood. Her blood, he knew. He had smelled it often enough while in Skyrim with her to be able to identify it. But there was still no Keshaara.

 An uncommon sense of panic welled up in his chest. Had something gone wrong? He had read all of the texts explaining the Dovahkiin’s power, he had poured over them with such intensity that his eyes had ached. He had been so certain that he had it right, and even if his throat was bloody and his voice raw, he had thought that the magic had come to him. He thought, in that moment when he felt the crush of power, he had done it right.

 But now it seemed as if he had been wrong, and somehow hurt her. Blood was all he could smell. Not even her seiðr permeated the smell, and when the scent of blood faded, not even his abnormally acute nose could detect any sign of Keshaara. She was…not here.

 Fear replaced panic. Had he hurt her?

 His gut roiled at the thought. He did not care for this surge of feeling that had blossomed inside of him. Keshaara was a means to an end, she was nothing more but a betimes amusing bedmate, she was nothing more but a Champion (but _his_ champion this time, far from Hermaeus Mora who had harmed her by his touch, far from the Daedra who were so terrible to someone they named Champion), but she was still his way of escaping this hellhole. She was freedom, nothing more glorious than that, nothing more meaningful than that.

 Loki shook his head. It did not matter what she was if she was not here.

 There was a shout, a panicked warning from above him, and he heard his golden brother calling his name. It was like thunder, appropriately enough, and shook the very rafters of the prison. Loki did not quail from the sound though. Much like thunder, there was not much to fear in Thor’s blusterous outrages. No, the quiet fury was much deadlier. This was shock, and perhaps a little bit of fear in his brother’s voice. Loki rather enjoyed that.

 The doors to the prison ward were thrown wide, and Thor in full battle regalia burst in. Loki regarded the other with a cool stare, not minding the blood that leaked down his pale skin from his mouth. The blood, the pain, it was worth it if Thor was here to tell him that Keshaara was –

 “Brother, Heimdall says that a new creature has appeared in the Realms, brought by a magic unfamiliar to him. He says you were the arbiter of this magic, which does not surprise me. Who was it you summoned?”

 Loki’s throat was too sore to formulate a response, and the smile he directed at his scarlet-clad brother was just as red as Thor’s favored cloak. Keshaara was alive, then. Or someone who had been summoned by her name was nearby. Near enough that Heimdall had seen her, and known that something was amiss.

 The shimmering wall that separated the both of them was a boon as Thor snarled. His brother had been losing his temper more and more often, as of late, and that tickled Loki pink. His tongue flicked out to lick his teeth. His blood tasted foul on his tongue, but it was a handy thing to make Thor’s brows furrow in confusion. Thor had never had a skill for magic, never bothered, so consumed was he with the allure of physical might. Like so many others, he was wary of Loki.

  _Good_.

 “Where is she?”

 His throat screamed protest as he rasped his words, but it was important.

 Thor’s look would have flayed the skin from bone if he had any magic in his gaze. There was a deep-seated accusation hidden poorly in his gaze, and Loki could not help the grin that split his face. He pressed both of his palms flat against the partition that separated him from everyone else in Asgard, resting his forehead against the magic that hummed against his skin. Keshaara was safe, she had been seen by Heimdall and she would be brought before Odin to bear witness. They would not kill her outright, now when they had seen her in her glory, seen how she looked as a Aesir, seen her and heard her speak. Keshaara would be brought before Odin, and he would name her Champion.

 “Jotunheim.”

 Well that…complicated things. Keshaara had somehow managed to absorb his Jotun heritage, taking it into herself and transforming it to part of herself, and had shown an ability to retain that transformation even long after she had taken his blood. If a Jotun found her, and her skin changed, that could potentially cause some severe issues. She was, after all, wearing a crown in her flesh, as he did, and Laufey had done. As a female, especially, the Jotuns may refuse to relinquish her. Loki’s understanding was that female Jotuns were rare, and one crowned queen, rarer still.

 “Ah.”

 “Who is she, Loki? What have you brought to Jotunheim?” Thor snapped, rushing towards the barrier.

 “She is a warrior unmatched by even you. She is the Voice of Storms and Fury, the Once and Future Dragon-born, Defender of Tamriel, the Ender of Ends, the First and Only and Last of her Name, Thane, _Ysmir_. She is my Champion, and I name her now as such. Bring her to Asgard and she will stand for me as no one else will. Bring her to _me_.”

 Thor snarled, pounding a fist against the wall, and Loki did not even flinch. His older brother, or the person who had once been considered such, turned on his heel and stormed away, hand already straying towards the hammer at his hip. Thor would go to Jotunheim, for a surety. Thor would take his friends with him, face down the Jotuns as he and they had done (with him at their side before everything had turn to ash in his mouth) and retrieve the magnificent, ferocious, untouchable Keshaara.

 Loki allowed himself a blood-soaked smile as his brother walked away, scarlet cape fluttering in the wind of his steps. He retreated to his bed, trembling with excitement now that things had begun to move in a way he could appreciate. He would have Keshaara, have a Champion, and would be freed from this. It would be glory and might that came to him next. He would stop the horrors approaching and **take** what was owed him.

 His smile did not fade, even as he licked the blood from his teeth. Keshaara… _Keshaara_ would be here soon, and she would thank him for freeing her from Skyrim, from a life she had never wanted and she and he would both find their freedoms.

 The shiver that ran through him was purely anticipatory. He could not wait. Keshaara and him together again. It had only been months, but it felt like so much more time had passed. He ached to recover the drawings of her from its hiding place and run his fingers over the lines of her face. If she was found as a Jotun, with the striking markings of a ruler struck in the tender flesh of her forehead and down the gentle curve of her neck, tracing her shoulders and draping her with every accoutrement of power…oh, the chaos it would cause when her skin was revealed as perfect and pale as the Aesir. She was like _him_ , they would know, and when they saw her power (for what would she have to hide, what games could she have planned for a world so departed from her own, what would she gain by being anything but herself) they would know her to be ferocious, and they would look upon him, again, with fear.

 His heart jumped.

 It would be magnificent. Him and Keshaara. A Champion and a Prince. A Champion and a _King_. A King and his Queen.

 The thoughts lulled him to contented sleep, and his dreams were of victory. Far off, Heimdall sent Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three on their way, trusting that this time they would not bring war, but instead, a Champion, summoned by Loki.


	4. Vigr

The Tale of the Dragonborn

* * *

 

 

The thing behind her was maddeningly fast. Faster than a frost troll enraged, and taller than her by three feet, the creature chased her through the snow and ice. She was not going to use a Shout, not yet. Not when she could not tell what else was around. If this was not the worst thing in the area, she was not going to alert anything else to her presence.

 The creature, however, seemed completely fine with roaring and shouting, more than likely to call the attention of others like it to the tasty morsel it found. Keshaara had not been thought a tasty morsel in many years, and the idea was just as unappetizing to her now as it had been then. She cranked a hard right around a rock face, pulling her axe free so she could defend herself. Her left hand, always free, crackled with power. The creature turned the corner, and a bolt of lightning caught it square in the chest, boring a hole straight through what she hoped was the vital internal organs.

 Luckily, just this once, they were, and the creature fell at her feet, seeping deep red blood out onto the snow. Keshaara panted heavily, looking at the huge creature. It looked…like Loki had, once, all those years ago. Her breath caught at the idea.

 Where in the hells was she. Where _was_ she?

 She was too caught up in her momentary mental breakdown to notice the other hulking blue creature sneaking up from over the top of the rock, until it was too late and its hand had already wrapped around her upper arm.

 The cold was enough to make her howl. It burned her to the very core, and she dropped to her knees.

 Divines, it hurt so bad.

 Her head rocked back and she looked up (and up and up and up) at the huge blue creature that was holding her arm. There was a flush of power that came, unbidden, from a place deep inside of her, and all at once the cold did not hurt and she felt…better. The sharp pain of the cold faded, and the feeling of exhaustion, of snow-drenched heaviness did too. She saw her skin turn from the pale color she had become so familiar with over her many years back to the deep, dark, blue that only Loki had ever elicited from her.

 The shocked sound she made was covered over by the sound the creature made. It ripped her helm from her head and pulled her hair away from her forehead. Its claws pressed into her flesh, tracing the marking on her brow. There was a deep sonorous hum that came from it, and it took Keshaara a moment to recognize it as language.

 She held perfectly still, trapped with one arm held, and a strange creature’s deadly talon resting on her face. The creature did not move, but it did not dig its sharp talons into her flesh either. It continued to talk at her, and Keshaara very, very, very slowly shook her head.

 “I don’t understand you. Where am I?” she said softly, her voice trembling purposefully. She had an inkling, a long-forgotten thought echoing through her mind, but she could not quite place it. Loki had said something about this. He had said something about his homeland, and where he had come from and what he was but it had been so long…

 The creature responded, and gently helped her to her feet. Keshaara’s heart thrummed in her chest. She wanted desperately to run away. She did not want the thing holding onto her to continue to do so, but there was no way she was going to be able to get away from it. Not a snowball’s chance in Morrowind. The creature was gentle when it started pulling her arm to follow him (it was masculine, after all, and appeared to have intelligence enough to speak and understand they did not speak the same language), but when she hesitated, it did not.

 She was rather unceremoniously hefted and put over his shoulder. Despite her kick and angry yell, he walked her towards some unknown place, not minding her kicks or screaming.

 Keshaara was not going to waste magic on this one, not just yet. She twisted her body violently, and willed herself _down_. It was an old, cheap trick she had taught to countless women over the years. Alternating between squirming and purposefully thinking and wanting to go _down_ generally resulted in –

 She fell to the snow again, tumbling from the tall beast’s shoulders. She reached for her pouch, for a sword to defend herself with, but her pack was gone from its usual place. The sword would have given her some distance, and that would have been nice, but without her pack, she had her axe. Her axe was enough though – when the being reached for her again, the Skyforge steel bit into the frozen flesh above its elbow hard enough to nearly sever the arm entirely.

 Magic flared at her fingertips and she had a ward-spell up to block the creature’s next move before it could even realize that it was just about missing an arm. Keshaara snarled, flashing her teeth in a ferocious war-grin. She did not want the thing to touch her anymore.

 To her shock, the great blue thing knelt before her, its blood staining the snow as it stayed very still. Keshaara stared at it, waiting for some sort of reaction. But it stayed still, meekly bowing its head to her. Keshaara dismissed the ward spell that was protecting her from an attack that did not seem to be coming. She did not, however, sheath her axe. She let the blood drip from the blade, even as fractals of ichor froze onto the metal.

 “Dróttning,” the creature growled, not moving even as Keshaara circled it. She was not so stupid as to turn her gaze from it, but in her periphery, she could see the world around her.

 “I know that word. Loki used it once. Loki…the Jotun. You are Jotun?”

 As soon as she started speaking, the words came to her. Like dusting long-forgotten pieces of jewelry off, she remembered.

 “Loki, of Jotunheim, the place of frost-giants.”

 A memory tickled her.

 “He really is rather short for a Jotun, then.”

 The creature…the _Jotun_ , looked at her, recognizing a few words.

 “Loki?” it parroted, narrowing its crimson eyes at her.

 “Loki, yes. I know him. Knew him. He is long gone from me. But this is not his place. He was on…Asgard? Asgard is the word.”

 “Asgard.”

 The Jotun knew the words. Some of them. That was good, yes? Perhaps not. The Jotun did not stand, or move to attack her, but she could see the tension building in his body. She should get going. Not that she knew where to go, but Asgard could not be far. If Loki was from Jotunheim, but raised in Asgard, there was a way to get from here to _there_. Not that Asgard would definitively be much better than Jotunheim to her, but maybe it was warmer.

 “How do I get to Asgard – to Loki?” she asked, staring down at the Jotun before her. She did not expect an answer, for the language barrier was still vast between them, but the tonality of her question must have indicated her desire to know more about the place.

 With the arm that was still attached firmly to its body, the Jotun pointed to the heavens.

 “Asgard.”

 Almost as if a cue had been given, the point in the sky that he had pointed to burst into shimmering light, a kaleidoscope of color and Keshaara gasped at the sight. The Jotun hissed and screeched something in its tongue, standing all at once, and grasping her wrist again. Keshaara jerked her arm away, and lifted her axe to strike. Something was happening and she was not going to be idle while this occurred. If that glittering portal was how she was to get to Asgard, then that glittering portal was her destination.

 She turned to the portal, even as it faded from the sky and fixed its position in her mind.

 “Loki-dróttning?”

 The question was not one she understood, though the tone was clear enough. She only furrowed her brows in response. Those were both terms she knew, but only one of them had meaning to her. The huge Jotun tore her breastplate off her body, and her hissed warning was ignored as his talons came damn close to her neck. He pulled the cloth of her undergarments to the side and ran his fingers down the crook of her neck, tracing out something Keshaara could not see.

 She could do nothing to stop the Jotun though. He had her armor off of her and his talons were very close to her neck. Well, that was not entirely true.

 “ _Feim zii gron_ ,” she hissed, and the sudden ethereality of her body caught the Jotun by surprise.

 Keshaara grabbed her breastplate out of the snow and snapped it back into place with a flash of magic. She ran, heading towards the portal she had seen. The Jotun’s first strike missed her – it passed completely through her body, not harming her in the slightest. The Shout’s power had yet to wear off. She was not battling - she was not trying anything other than to get away. To get to the portal she had seen. If that was Asgard, if that was how one got to Asgard from Jotunheim, then that was where she was going.

 Keshaara ran like the wind. The snow obscured her vision, but she did not care. Rocks jutted up from the snow-covered earth, and she darted around them. From behind her, she heard a mighty roar, words she did not know echoing through the landscape, and in front of her, she heard an answering snarl.

 Another Jotun appeared out of the snow, swinging an ice-formed blade at her head. Without a second thought, Keshaara dropped to her knees and slid, her now-corporeal body bending backwards to avoid the blade. Her own axe flashed out, sinking deep into the soft flesh of the Jotun’s belly, and she twisted and _wrenched_ her blade free, spilling hot blood over her hand and freezing to her armor. The Jotun howled at her, thrusting ice at her face, screaming those words that the other Jotun had been shouting, but Keshaara had no time for this. She had to get to Asgard. She had to know if Loki was still alive. She could not bring herself to believe it, but the Jotun had recognized the name enough to attach it to words Loki himself had spoken. She had to know. Asgard was her destination, that was the end of it. The snowdrifts gave way to sheets of ice, and Keshaara ran on.

 Her boots had deep, sharp grips on them. Skyrim was a cold, unforgiving place, and this was not the first time she had to run on ice. The deep bite of her boots let her run with freedom, and the speed she gained across the clear area was, on anyone else, astounding. To Jotuns, who had a stride nearly twice that of her own, it was only a moderate pace. The blue warriors rushed out of the palace (Divines it was a palace of ice) behind her, and Keshaara raced all the harder towards the place where the portal had been.

 She dodged behind pillars when chunks of ice flew past her, throwing ward spells back to deflect attacks before they could get to her. She did not want to stop running. There were quite a few Jotuns chasing her, growling and hissing and spitting at her, fury and desire in the words. Keshaara could taste their rage on their tongues and she wanted no part of it.

 Her magic hummed in her hands, and she swept it behind her. Fire roared into existence, a conflagration unlike anything that had ever been seen in Jotunheim consumed the air behind her. The Jotuns screamed in fury, confusion, and pain, but Keshaara was still racing ahead, her eyes fixated on the single point in this entire place that promised her even the slightest hope of seeing Loki again. She needed to be there. It was a drive deep inside of her.

 Nearly a craving.

 But she had not craved anything in years, not like she craved him.

 Whatever that meant.

 Keshaara’s run took on a decidedly acrobatic flair as she raced towards where the portal had been. As soon as her fires had dissipated, the Jotuns were behind her again. Not that they could catch her. Not with her skill in running. Not when she was fueled by fear and rage and fury and she had the advantage of not knowing anything other than her desire to get away.

 Rocks burst up out of the ground at her, driven by magic from somewhere else. Keshaara jumped into the air, dropping a shoulder and twisting herself over the rock. As she spun, she threw magic back at the Jotuns, magic that materialized into arcing lightning that took out more than a few of her pursuers. The pillars dotted the landscape around her, and deep chasms of ice fell away to either side. There was really only one way to go, a path that lead away from the glittering palace of deep blue ice behind her, but as it seemed that there were no Jotuns in front of her, she did not care. She vaulted a chasm, leaping high into the air and sending a quick prayer to the Divines that she would not falter.

 She landed on her feet and kept going, racing madly for the portal that had vanished out of the sky. The portal was there once, and it would be there again. If there was any residual magic to that portal, she could dissemble it and get herself back to where she had a need to be. She was the Archmage, she could do anything. Magic was in her blood. Her eyes were wide and she was almost there. She was almost there. Keshaara saw four people…fair skinned and clad in armor - Aesir? Loki had used that term to describe the others, the not-him, those that had raised him but had not been his kin truly. They were fighting as well, trading blows with the Jotuns. Keshaara did not hesitate, and threw her magic forward again. A ward spell blocked the next attack on the woman in the group, and Keshaara leapt into the center of their group, throwing a healing spell around them. Gashes and frostbite faded to nothingness, and all that was left was the rusted outlines of blood trails. She barely even registered the feeling of the power leaving her as it healed the others. Keshaara was Archmage.

 “<Who are you?! Are you the one Loki called?!>” the man with the red cloak demanded as her spell spun out of her hands. He had a enchanted hammer held high, and lightning raced around him. He threw the hammer and lightning with equal parts grace and ease.

 Keshaara recognized the words as being similar to the ones Loki had spoken to her after he had fallen out of the tree - and more importantly, she recognized the name "Loki", spat like a curse, on this man's tongue. Like the Jotuns, they spoke a language she did not know, but she was willing to bet that this was the one Loki had spoke of, when she spoke of brothers. The others did not speak, or raise their voices in anything other than war-cries, but the feeling of their words in her ear was the same.

"Yes! _Duck!_ ”

 She had her axe drawn again and she threw it, narrowly missing the man who did not duck, but still managing to hit the Jotun behind him with a satisfying **thwunk.** She vaulted the red-cloaked man to retrieve her axe and spun a ward spell around herself to defend against another spike of ice thrusted at her gut. She threw the ward spell outwards, buffeting the Jotuns away from the group again. The one with the red cloak swung his hammer down, sending a shockwave through the area. Keshaara clucked her tongue and pulled a master class spell around her. Her hands moved through the motions, fire tracing them in blazing relief, and when she released the spell, a firestorm roared around the group, sending the Jotuns fleeing from the mage who they had unwittingly challenged. Keshaara was not even winded, and she already had the next spell dancing at her hands. She _pulled_ her axe back to her, summoning it with ease, and readied herself for the next salvo, because there would always be another. Her left hand crackled with energy waiting to be released and she dropped into the indicative half-crouch that battlemages took when fighting with a group.

 The red cloaked one laughed in approval, and the others echoed him. She threw her magic around her again, flinging fire and lightning and around the group. Keshaara was a _Battlemage_ , she was the Archmage of Winterhold, damn it all, and this group of people was clearly going to take her back to Loki.

 “<I like this one! Heimdall!>”

 The portal in the sky opened again, and Keshaara beamed at its glittering colors, rising up out of her crouch. They were going to take her to Loki. They were taking her to Asgard. Magic unfamiliar to her alighted upon her skin, and all at once, there was a sharp pull behind her navel and she felt…


	5. Lǫgsǫgumaðr

The Tale of the Dragonborn

(The Tale of the Jotun Prince)

* * *

 

 

The world flashed before her eyes, in a dizzying array of light and colors unlike anything she had seen before. The pulling behind her navel did not stop, but rather than be nauseating, it was passing pleasant. She knew she was going somewhere spectacular, and perhaps, to see Loki once again. Such a thing would truly be wonderful, if it were actually happening.

 Her feet touched down on solid ground a few moments later (but it had seemed like such a long time), and Keshaara could not help the awed gasp that came from her mouth. Before her, just beyond a door, lay a land so unlike anything she had ever seen before. The majesty of the Dwemer paled in comparison to the sheer beauty before her. The city was built of gold and gems, and a long glittering bridge of rainbow’d soul-gems stretched before her to connect the place where she stood with the city. Water rushed over the edge of the world, but from here, the sound was muffled.

 The five who had been on Jotunheim turned to her, though four looked to the one with the red cloak and waited for him to speak.

 “<We will take you to Odin, so that he may judge your character, Keshaara.>”

 She stared, narrowing her eyes at the horrid pronunciation of her name. None of those words were recognizable, but the tone implied something she did not like. The man with the cloak gestured for her to follow him, and she stepped forward. The woman in the group stood beside her, as did the man who had wielded a mace, and behind her, the one with the huge waraxe and the foil. Keshaara ducked her head down and looked behind her, trying to see the emotions on the faces of those who had come for her, specifically, it seemed.

 Their faces were stone, and bespoke of mistrust. Something was very, very wrong.

 Keshaara turned her head to the side as they exited the small gilded room, passing by a man with eyes that burned orange like hers. At his hip, she noticed her pouch. Her eyes flickered narrower, and she stopped. The man she was looking at shifted, rolling his shoulders back and tightening his grip on the huge sword he bore.

 “You are not taking me to Loki, are you?” she asked, knowing they did not speak her language. The one who guarded narrowed his eyes at her, noting how her gaze dipped again to the pouch at his hip.

 “<Loki is none of your concern, Keshaara. We will see that he is appropriately ->”

 She did not let them finish the sentence. She ducked underneath the arm of the man with the foil, dropping low as he reached for her. Her knees kissed the ground and she balanced herself precisely to carry the movement towards her desired destination. The man with the orange eyes and steeled gaze hefted his huge sword, but Keshaara was already reaching for her pouch at his hip, and pulling for her needed set of armor. The familiar snap of a battle-quick armor swap was normal to her, but caught the others by surprise. In a moment, heavy steel was replaced with supple black leather that seemed to darken all light that touched upon it. Their gasps were soon consumed by war-cries.

 Keshaara pulled her pouch back to her hip and twisted out of the way of the weapons that suddenly appeared in-hand. Her footsteps were silent, and her body flickered as the Nightingale of Skyrim made her appearance.

 “Nocturnal, guide me. _Find Loki_ ,” Keshaara whispered, and she ran.

 Magic spilled from her hands as she let the seek-spell rush out of her. To her eyes, a path outlined a way from where she was to where Loki was. The cries of shock and fury of those around her fell away as she focused on the single point. She had to follow the trail, she had to find Loki –

She dodged a strike from a huge war axe, throwing a ward spell to deflect the lightning thrown from the hammer wide around her at the same time,  and she amended the statement to include ‘get away from these goons’.

 “Wuld Nah _Kest_!”

 The shout, as it had always done (but not for years and years now), rushed her forward, ignoring all that was in her path. By the time she was running under her own speed again, she had crossed the point where the water spilled into nothingness, and was sprinting madly along the line delineated for her by her spell.

 She heard a roar from behind her, and chanced a glance over her shoulder to see the man in the scarlet cloak hurtling through the air hammer-first. Keshaara did not bother with a ward-spell this time, but rather dropped to her stomach on the bridge and let the man fly over her. She had to get to the city proper. No one could catch a thief in full flight through a city. Not even these people. She was a Nightingale, she was smoke and shadow, she was thief and runner, and they did not know with whom they were dealing.

 The man with the orange eyes and sword was running at a very good clip to pen her in between the scarlet cloaked one and him. Her magic hummed at her fingertips, and she threw illusions around her. Copies of her appeared from nowhere, each as solid and hefty as Keshaara herself, and each flickering in and out of sight. There were precious few shadows in this land to mask herself in, but there was enough to make the sudden confluence of Keshaaras very confusing.

 And yes, perhaps she had styled that trick after Loki’s own, but that was neither here nor there because Keshaara was already over _there_.

 She dodged the next strike of lightning, twisting out of the way with more acrobatic skill than her form would have suggested possible. Her footsteps were silent as she rushed the man with the hammer, and instead of attacking him, she quick-stepped around him, turning artfully on the ball of one of her feet and flicking his beloved cloak up over his head. Frost danced across her hands and froze the cape to the front of his armor.

 She left him, struggling with the stiffened fabric, and raced onwards. The other, the one with the sword who ran with purpose and whose eyes pierced the very heavens, was not so easily lost. He followed her, even as her multiple clones scattered to the wind. He was clever then. Not so clever as her, mind you, as she finally found the bulk of the city. Her path did not falter. He knew the lay of the land better than her, but she had magic unending within her, and it was no large task to start throwing it behind her. Illusions may have no affect, but sheets of ice coating the ground did.

 Keshaara jumped up, clambering to the roof of one of the many buildings, watching carefully as her path adjusted. The magic would lead her where she needed to go, and there was no way anyone was going to stop her.

 Guards had been mustered, and thunder split the sky. Keshaara had no concern for any of this. Her armor would do her well if the skies were darkened. Rain began to pour down from on high, and the sounds of confusion and rage masked her already muffled-steps.

 With her hood up and mask on, she was nearly invisible in the suddenly darkened sky. Even her keen-eyed pursuer, momentarily halted by the sudden ice in his path lost sight of her. She was untouchable, unseeable, and a wraith on the move. She leapt from building to building, nothing more than a flash in the corner of the most observant people’s eyes.

 A warning had gone up, a cry of panic and worry and desperation, but Keshaara ignored it all. Before her was a blue line, showing her the twists and turns and drops and dodges she had to make to find Loki.

 She darted inside what could only be the palace, situated as it was atop the highest hill, the darkness of building shadows hiding her completely. The path intensified in color, signaling that she was getting closer to the final destination. Her speed slowed considerably, but that meant nothing to her. She was getting closer.

 She edged around guards, dropping low into her sneak-stance. Some passed within a hairsbreadth of her as she snuck by, all on high alert, searching for an intruder, for someone who had entered Asgard under false pretenses. Keshaara let the murmuring of their foreign language wash over her, and looked to the path, only to watch in something close to horror as it bent backwards and pointed her in a completely different direction.

 Keshaara twisted to follow the path, brushing past guards before they could comprehend her presence, and she raced after the suddenly moving Loki.

 The room opened up into a wide, nearly open-air amphitheater, filled with panicked people, and atop a dais tall and imposing, sat a man with a patch over one of his eyes. At the foot of this dais, just as golden as everything else in this place seemed to be was a man with hair as black as raven’s wings, garbed in green and gold. No armor adorned him, but the clothing he wore still bore the familiar hallmarks of a man she had not seen in centuries.

 Keshaara knew that man. She knew him well.

 For a moment, she paused, looking for a cleared path to his side, but there was none. People had rushed to this place almost immediately it seemed, to see Loki, garbed in simple clothing, and chained at neck, wrist and ankle. Fury rippled through her as the man with the scarlet cloak made a report, with heavy mention of her name, and of Loki’s. None of the terms used bespoke of kindness to her ears. The chains stoked her ire.

 Her face twisted into a snarl behind her mask, and still sneaking, she advanced on her target. Loki showed no indication of knowing she was coming near, nor did he raise his voice in dissent to whatever accusations were being thrown hither and thither. From behind him, she could not guess his expression, but if she had to bet her last septim, she was certain he was smirking in that damnable self-assured way of his. He had to know by now that she was coming, that she was in Asgard, and despite the years that had passed between their last meeting, he must know that she was near.

 Keshaara’s pace picked up as the one with the scarlet cloak approached Loki, gesturing with the hammer that threw lightning. Her fury transformed into ugly rage and she let the cloak of shadows fall from her as soon as she passed through the line of guards holding the people safe from the terrible thing that was in their midst. Shock rippled through the crowd, and a guard leveled his spear at her.

 The wave of her hand was nearly dismissive, but the angry red light that followed her gesture made the man drop to his knees, eyes wide and unseeing. Her orange eyes _burned_ in the shadow of her hood, and even as more men rushed her, spears and swords drawn, she did not stop her slow advance on Loki. He had not turned to face her, but he had straightened and tilted his head to the side. The man with the scarlet cloak gestured with his hammer, advancing on her with the contigent of guardsman. His words were loud and booming, full of accusation and fury.

 “Zun haal _viik_ ,” she hissed, her words rumbling through the area. Anyone with a hand on a weapon had that weapon tossed to the ground, wrenched out of their grasp and pushed away.

 The hammer went flying, but almost immediately returned to the man’s hand. He threw lightning at her once again, with no regard for the safety of those around him. Her ward spell, as ever, was faster and stronger. She penned him inside a bubble of warding, letting him throw lightning as he liked, but incapable of striking anyone but the wall that surrounded him. He beat ineffectively on the spell, not a single crack appearing in the magic that penned him in.

 Keshaara walked the last few paces to Loki’s side unmolested, an uncommon hush falling over the people gathered.

 “Loki, what have you done?” she asked as she approached him, careful to keep her voice neutral so that those who could not understand her would not read overmuch into her question.

 “The Daedra you spoke to send me home told you what I did. What makes you question it now?”

 “Because you brought me here. And now, apparently this is my problem. It is good, however, to see you again after all this time.”

 She reached out to clasp him by the upper arm, a congenial greeting between two equals.

 “It has been but a few months. I did not think you would miss me so soon, Kesh.”

 “It has been four hundred and fifty years Loki. I have missed much more than you. But that is topic for another time,” she said, hurriedly cutting off Loki’s stunned exclamation. “Why have you brought me?”

 Loki blanched, his eyes darting to the man atop the dais. Keshaara followed his gaze, looking evenly at the man with white hair, a missing eye, and an air of rage.

 “To name you my Champion.”

 Keshaara looked back to Loki, her gaze inscrutable. For a long few moments, she stared at him, weighing his words.

 “You would name me Champion, Loki? Why?”

 “You are the…only one would I could think of who would accept. Do you, accept?”

 Uncharacteristic hesitance had crept into Loki’s voice, and Keshaara said nothing. Her gaze focused on something far from him, from those gathered, from the still-raging man trapped in her wardspell. She took a deep breath, weighing the potential for danger that would come from championing someone like Loki. She did not even know what would be required of her, and though he was a damn sight fairer than any of the Daedra could be, that did not mean she foresaw anything but the possibility for death in his words. She looked him in the eye again, and reached forward to grab the back of his neck gently. Keshaara leaned in to rest her forehead on his, ignoring the scandalized gasp that rippled through the area.

 “Yes. I did swear to protect you. I think, however, I need to speak your tongue to better communicate with…those I have angered.”

 Loki nodded, but did not pull away from her immediately. A kiss would be inappropriate, even if that was how he had originally stolen her language from her, so Keshaara waited, her hand resting gently on the back of his neck. It was a few moments before he moved, and when he did, magic traced the air in his breath. It was in the mingling of breath that language could be transferred, and Keshaara breathed in the new language.

 The rumble of the people surrounding her, their words and phrases that had moments earlier been nothing more than garbled sounds clarified into words she knew. As easily as her own tongue, she knew the words, and it was with this new knowledge that she turned to the man on the dais.

 Her fingers brushed the pouch at her hip, and her clothing melted from the leather of a Nightingale to the regal outfit of a Dovahkiin, as she wore when treating with the High King of Skyrim. Her clothing was styled as it was proper for Skyrim, and though the style may be different here, she still cut an imposing figure, garbed as she was in the softest leather and richest fur, with sleeves heavy with embroidered designs. Around her neck was a golden torc featuring two dragon heads that had eyes that glittered with inlayed gems. On her brow, a gold circlet studded with obsidian and rubies. Her axe was still at her hip, naked and ready to be drawn if needed, but with a simple moment, Keshaara had gone from war-like to undeniably regal.

 Her eyes seemed only to grow brighter as she rolled her shoulders back and looked directly in the eye of the man on the dais, gathering her thoughts for a moment before speaking.

 “I am Keshaara of Skyrim, Thane of the Reach, of the Rift, of Eastmarch, of Whiterun, of Winterhold, of Falkreath, of the Pale, of Haafingar, of Hjaalmarch, Voice of Storms, Nightingale of Nocturnal, Dark Hand of the Brotherhood, Companion of Jorrvaskr, Skald of the Lands, Archmage of Winterhold, _Thuri Dovahkiin_ , Champion of Loki. Who is it that I have the honor of speaking to?”

 Her voice was clear and firm, and she was careful to remain still as she spoke.

 “I am Odin, Allfather, Ruler of Asgard and all the Nine Realms.”

 Keshaara inclined her head politely, but did not avert her gaze. His title clearly carried heft, but she did not think a Ruler needed more than a simple nod to acknowledge their supremacy. If they demanded more than that, then it told her quite a lot about them.

 “Why have you come here?”

 “I was summoned to aide Loki. So I will do just that. His freedom is mine, and I am not one who takes kindly to imprisonment. He names me Champion and I accept the naming.”

 “Then Champion of Loki Laufeyson, you are. You will face those who have issue with him in single combat, or their Champions as they have chosen.”

 “Just so.”

 Loki stifled a laugh from behind her and Keshaara’s mouth twitched into a smile.

 “You will face these Champions only with the arms and armaments that Loki provides you. As his Champion, all of your belongings are bound as his are.”

 The skin around her eyes tightened momentarily.

 “To my understanding, then, I have neither arms nor armament. As a captive, he is not allowed such luxuries as armor or weaponry, and if I have the right of it, he has his magic bound as well.”

 “Just so.”

 Her words returned to her made the corner of her mouth jump into a grin. Now, Keshaara turned from Odin, looking to the people gathered, some of which were murmuring angrily under their breath. The guards tensed as she looked to them, and she allowed herself a wolfish smile.

 “Then who here, in noble, beautiful Asgard, shall face a disarmored and disarmed woman in single combat? Who will claim the glory of the first fight with me?”

 Her voice boomed through the amphitheater, carried with the force of storms.

 “Come now, without my magic or any way of defending myself, I must surely be an appealing target! Your King and Ruler fair has acknowledged me _Champion_ , has he not? Surely there must be s _omeone_ with cause to want Loki imprisoned?”

 Stunned silence greeted her. Now, she circled Loki, walking so she could make her case to the crowd.

 “None? None of you have cause to want him in the cell he finds himself in? None seek to challenge my right to free him?”

 Silence was nearly suffocating those in attendance. She could see decisions being made and unmade. There was no honor in defeating someone who had neither armor nor weapon. It would be more shameful to challenge her than to let her carry on.

 She stood at Loki’s side again, staring up at Odin.

 “You have mistaken. None challenge his right to freedom. Loki is neither accused nor imprisoned any longer.”

 “He is a prisoner until I say he is no longer. You will be allowed arms and armor of my selection-”

 “So the King can bend the rules to his whim? Such honor must be found in Asgard, for in Skyrim, no High King would ever dare alter the rules of combat to suit his own desires. Either, by your own words, I am Champion without armor or weaponry, and Loki is free for no one will challenge me, or Loki is free, and the challenges are to prove his guilt while I am armed and armored. You cannot Champion a guilty man by your own designation of what guilt means. I have been declared and accepted his Champion by him and all assembled - by yourself, included. Would you unmake me Champion to see that he remains imprisoned?”

 Her hands reached for the manacles on Loki’s wrists and with a simple, savage twist (that disguised the magic used to pick the lock), she stripped them from his hands. The collar around his neck and ankles were thrown from him to land in a pile on the ground. A hiss went through the area, but Keshaara looked evenly up at Odin, daring him to raise his voice. Even though the King’s face was red, she could see a rueful smile on his wife’s face, and Keshaara knew that Loki was smiling as well. Odin had no recourse to challenge her words.

 “I am Keshaara, Thuri Dovahkiin, and I Champion the freedman Loki.”

 Her finery was replaced by heavy steel once again, and her axe found its way into her hand. Beside her, Loki’s smile was predatory, and his own armor shimmered into existence on his frame.

 “I am Keshaara, Champion of Loki. _Who dares challenge me?!_ ”

 The roar from the assembled – the shouts of ‘aye’ and ‘me!’ - would have bowled a lesser woman over, but Keshaara stood tall and grinning. Foremost of the shouted challenges were the people who had taken her from Jotunheim, and the man in the scarlet cloak who had calmed enough for her ward spell to relax and free him. Beside her, Loki threw his head back and _laughed_.

 

This was going to be bloody brilliant.


	6. Válaðr

The Tale of the Dragonborn

(The Tale of the Jotun Prince)

* * *

 

 

Loki waited for a long while to talk to her. There was, apparently, much to do - and this meant that he could not take a moment to speak with her. Her pouch was taken from her, with the rushed explanation that as Loki only had one set of armor, so did she – and Loki only ever used knives, so would she. She was quick then to pull a dagger from her pouch before it was taken from her, a long and wicked-looking thing of pattern-welded Skyforge steel, and to trade her steel armor back for the Nightingale armor. Loki did not question her choice, and when she argued for the remainder of her pouch that was neither weapon nor armor to remain with her, she won, and her books, clothing, and baubles were returned to her as well.

 Loki was watched carefully, and guards shadowed their movements as he walked her through the palace. She had not expected much else, but when they finally came to a door that looks as if it had not been opened in a long while, Loki grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the room. For a moment, she was allowed to look at the sumptuous decorations that were draped throughout the room - Loki's personal quarters were massive and decorated with shelves and shelves of books that practically hummed magic at her. After the door shut on the noses of the guards who had been following them, Loki had her pressed flush against the door, his mouth slanted across hers hungrily.

 His hands were buried in her hair, and his hips rolled against hers, pressing her further into the door. Keshaara squeaked her surprise, but Loki’s tongue was sliding into her mouth and twisting around her own tongue. She kissed him back, but did not bring her hands up to touch him. One of his hands slid down her body to settle on the dip of her hip before gliding back to press his hand into the small of her back. Keshaara let him kiss her harder, his teeth biting into her lip, demanding she allow him _more_.

 Keshaara allowed him whatever he wanted. She had missed this, missed Loki’s ferocity, missed every part of him, but she did not –

 “Kesh, that was beautiful, Kesh. You did everything so much more perfectly than I thought was possible. You were so beautiful Kesh. You did everything so perfectly. I could not have asked for anything more than someone like you. It was perfection, _you_ were perfection.”

 She gasped, sagging into his touch. He had purposefully switched back to the language he had stolen from her those hundreds of years ago, and growled the words at her, punctuating every sweet phrase with a kiss, a bite, a thrust of his hips.

 “Why would you use my own language L- _oh_ -ki?”

 “Because I have missed it on my tongue, like I have missed you on my tongue and being on your tongue.”

 Keshaara groaned loud and low and Loki chuckled into her neck. He bit the tender skin beneath her ear and rocked his hips into hers again. Her answering whine was desperate and plaintive. She tried to clench her legs together, but Loki had already pressed his thigh in between her legs. He rubbed his leg up and down, rocking her back and forth against the muscles of his thigh. Keshaara’s voice was high and keening, broken and breathless. His name spilled from her lips like a mantra, and Loki never stopped his assault. He pulled her hair, jerking her head to the side so he could bite into her flesh and bruise her skin.

 “Norns, I have missed you Kesh. Months have passed and I could not…I could not,” his words failed him and he hungrily pressed his mouth to hers again.

 There was something in the air, something Keshaara could not place, but it did not really matter because Loki was stripping her clothing off of her – just enough so that he could cup her dripping sex with one hand as his other fumbled with his own clothing. Just enough so that his cock was freed so he could lift one of her legs high and thrust himself into her. The sounds of them moaning were loud, but the wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of her were just that slightest bit louder.

 Her name fell from his lips like a mantra, and this time, he did not have the luxury of a foreign language to disguise the words that accompanied everything he said. Keshaara’s own gasped platitudes echoed his. Both of them spiraled towards release and nearly simultaneously, they collapsed into each other, Loki still holding her up even as his orgasm robbed him of any fine motor control. Her own orgasm was still echoing through her, and small aftershocks were rippling through her.

 Loki was gasping her name, twisting his fingers through her hair as he tried to come down easily. He had missed **that** a surprising amount, and even as he slid out of her warm, wet, delightful cunt, he could feel himself already trying to ready up for another round. Keshaara was uncharacteristically quiet, and moved quickly to readjust her clothing. Loki pressed open-mouthed kisses to her jaw and cheeks, and she stood still as he did so, trying to catch her breath and calm her heart.

 He did not seem to be overly bothered and when he reached to grab her hand, Keshaara allowed it. He pressed a kiss to her palm, and began to walk. She followed him as he led her through the room, taking in the décor, the books, everything about Loki’s personal quarters - his own home within a huge sprawling palace that put the Blue Palace to shame. He clearly had a taste for finery. Nothing appeared to be anything but the absolute best in quality, far surpassing anything she had ever thought of owning. Not that Keshaara, in her final days in Skyrim could not afford such things, she just had never seen the need for it.

 Loki was talking excitedly about everything around him. She listened attentively as he outlined his plan to gain true freedom, and how she was absolutely instrumental in the entire endeavor.

 Of course, she had already known this because there was not much else to know. The simple conversation they had held earlier, in front of the collected force of Asgard, had been enough for her to piece together a great many things. Her memory may have been hazy, dulled by the years, but she could recall a few important things.

 “Loki, Loki, stop,” she finally said as he continued on in his diatribe, showing no signs of actually explaining what was going on, and exactly what he wanted.

 He looked at her, shocked that she had spoken up.

 “Loki, I can’t…can you at least tell me about where I am, first? I am already sworn as your Champion, but if it is not too much, I would…I would like to at least know where I am.”

 Loki frowned.

 “You are in Asgard.”

 “Obviously. What does that mean for me though? You hinted at much in Skyrim but said precious little. I am a woman in this new place, and it seems as if it is passing odd for women to wear armor, as I have only seen the one so far. Who is in charge? Who was the man on the bridge with the golden eyes? What of those people who came to fetch me from Jotunheim? How are these worlds interconnected? There are _many_ questions Loki, and I would like if there could be some answers given before I must fight.”

 “It doesn’t matter what is happening. You are here to fight for me, yes? So as long as you do not lose, and continue to be as brilliant as you were, there is nothing more you need to know. Asgard is what it is. Anything else does not matter to you. You are my champion, and that is all that needs to be known.”

 He turned away from her before he could see the way Keshaara’s eyes turned downwards and her mouth twisted into an almost-frown. She had seen a tree of stars, and tasted the magic of that place, but her questions about such a thing would apparently, have to wait.

 “As you say, Loki.”

 Her response was soft, muted. Loki continued on talking.

 “You should spare no mercy when facing those who challenge you. They are all beneath you, and they should know that by the time you are through with them. Sif, Fandral, Hogun and Volstagg are undoubtedly going to try and challenge you first, and the number of challengers will likely number like the stars, but that should be expected and shall be no problem, because you will not lose.”

 There was a pause, as if Loki was awaiting a response, and Keshaara made a noncommittal sound of acquiescence in the back of her throat so that he would continue on. She always offered mercy. She offered the ability to yield, the chance to live, because she knew the danger of declaring oneself a champion.

 “As soon as I have my freedom, Keshaara, I will show you what it means to rule a Realm. I will seat you as my right hand for now until the end of times. We shall rule together.”

 Another pause, this one directed and focused at her. He reached for her other wrist and held it, pulling her close to his chest so he could cradle her head in his neck and stroke her hair. She could feel the tremble in his arms as he spoke, but still took a few moments to find an appropriate response. She did not know what the correct path was, but she knew that there was a subtle game being played beneath his words.

 “As you say, Loki,” was all she could muster.

 “Yes _, just_ as I say.”

 She could feel him growing hard again, and he repeated his last sentence over and over again, placing his emphasis on every word in the phrase in turn.

 “Keshaara I missed you so much. I thought of you every moment of every day. I thought of what we could do together. I thought of everything we could accomplish – everything we _will_ accomplish. Keshaara, destroyer of Alduin, and Loki, the King. There is nothing I cannot do with you at my side. We will be terror and fury in this world, and in the end they will know our strength.”

 Keshaara said nothing. She only tried to pull away when his grip on her loosened, doing her best to keep this from becoming something it was not. She turned her head away from him, neatly evading his grip when he reached for her again.

 “I do not want to…I am here to earn your freedom, not be a weapon for your quest to the throne, Loki,” she said, her voice small.

 “My freedom _is_ that throne, Keshaara. I am King, and I will have everyone know it. I am not free until that throne is mine, and you are my Champion until that is recognized by all in the Nine Realms.”

 His hand grabbed her wrist too-hard and ice crept up her sleeve. Keshaara hissed and made an aborted movement to yank her arm away from the sudden onslaught of cold. Loki only clutched her wrist all the harder. The chill settled into her bones, numbing her entire arm. Her hiss turned into a sharp, high cry as the cold dug deeper into her. Her knees felt weak, wobbling under the suddenly too-great weight of her own body.

 “Loki-”

 She stopped herself when she looked up into his eyes. Instead of green, the piercing eyes that stared her down were bright, electrifying blue. Keshaara dropped to a knee, gasping for a breath that would not come. Those _eyes_. Something deep and dangerous and mad hid in those eyes, but those were not Loki’s eyes.

 “Loki _please_ ,” she panted, looking up to him as her skin slowly turned blue in reaction to the cold. The blue in his eyes vanished, leaving only emerald green in their wake

 He loomed over her, jerking her arm higher up so he could press it to the center of his chest. His own hands were turning Jotun-blue as well, and he looked down at her hungrily. He pressed his other hand to her shoulder, pulling her into his hips as he canted them forward. She could feel his clothed cock press against her cheek, and she turned her face towards it. As much as she did not like his actions, did not like how he was acting towards her, she could not deny the curl of heat that was still seated in her.

 Loki may be an asshole, but there was a deep current of desire that flowed between them and she could not deny how it felt to be so close to him again.

 “Keshaara, I _want-_ ”

 This time, the interruption was in the form of an urgent knock on the door. Loki’s head whipped around so he could direct a snarl at the poor person behind the interruption. He clutched Keshaara tighter to him, pushing on the back of her head to better grind her face against his cock. Keshaara opened her mouth to tongue at the clothed hardness, and was rewarded with Loki snapping his hips towards her and grunted.

 The knocking continued, far more urgently this time. Loki released her wrist and all but pushed her away from him so he could answer the summons at the door. Keshaara clutched at her frozen sleeve, relieved that the cold had done no lasting damage and only really numbed her arm, but still practically vibrating with anticipatory pleasure. She sat on her heels, adjusted her sleeve over her hand and looked to the door, where an irate Loki was debating rather vociferously with…a woman?

 “Keshaara, come here,” he snapped, gesturing for her to come to his side.

 She obliged, rising gracefully from her position on the floor.

 “My lady Keshaara, your room has been prepared. Come with me please,” the woman at the door intoned gently, extending a hand for Keshaara to take.

 “I’m sorry, I do not think I understand. I am Loki’s Champion. Loki is, to my knowledge, a rather mis-liked person in Asgard currently. Am I expected to leave the man I champion to danger? This does not seem to be appropriate.”

 Loki smirked at her, pleased again, with how astute she was with her words.

 “There is no danger to Loki from anyone here. You, however, cannot stay with him, as that is improper for two people of your relationship. Come with me.”

 Keshaara blinked, and looked to Loki. His smirk had not faded, nor had he made any effort to obscure the outline of his cock as it strained against his clothing.

 “I do not understand that, either. What relationship do we have?” she asked, looking between Loki and the woman.

 “You have none, which is the point. This way, now.”

 The woman took her by the arm and forcefully led her from Loki’s room. His door shut behind her, but not before he shot one last smirk at her. Keshaara looked at the door for as long as she could as she was pulled away, trying to memorize the path back to his room. Just in case. There were more things happening in Asgard than just this challenge of her Championship. His eyes had been _blue_. Something was  _wrong._


	7. Illska

The Tale of the Dragonborn

* * *

 

 

Keshaara was hustled to a room far, far away from Loki’s. If she had to make an educated guess as to the distance, it was about as far away as she could get from his room while still being in the same general superstructure of the palace. She did not like this, and made that opinion known more than once, but her disapproval was met with harsh stares and pointed reminders that she was a woman and it would be improper for her to remain in the room with someone of the opposite gender who was not her betrothed.

 “But I am his Champion,” she insisted, placing heavy weight on the word.

 “You are a woman, first.”

 “I am _Keshaara_ first. Not just any woman and it would do you well to remember that.”

 The woman who was guiding her around stopped at that, peeking up at her.

 “As you say, then, Keshaara. Come, these are your quarters for as long as Loki is a freedman. If you fail, and he is imprisoned, so shall you be, though as his Champion, you would be receiving any punishments he is unfit to feel. If you succeed, and if you continue to succeed in fending off those that challenge his right to freedom, you will gain more freedoms with your room and all that that entails.”

 The woman gestured to the huge room they were standing in. Keshaara looked around, frowning at the expanse presented to her.

 “This is a room?”

 The place was just…huge. It was more massive than huge could ever hope to be. All of Lakeview could fit inside this single room, and it looked as if there were wings of rooms branching out from the sides, leading to goodness knows where.

 “It is a room befitting the Champion of Loki, yes.”

 “It’s…large.”

 The lady snorted politely.

 “This is the smallest room in this wing.”

 “So I am meant to be insulted by this, then?” Keshaara asked pointedly, staring down the shorter guide.

 The woman shot her a curious look.

 “Well you are… _Loki’s_ Champion.”

 “And?”

 “He _is_ the most hated person in all of the Nine Realms.”

 “And? The hospitality you are offering is dependent on who your guest associates with? You would offer insult to someone who has done no harm, who is far from home and alone, merely because she was called to this realm to serve as Champion? Your people seem passing insistent upon shaming themselves at every turn I make. I am a guest of the King, and Champion to a man I understand to be adopted son to the King. So I suppose, then, perhaps, this is how Asgardians treat guests?”

 Keshaara had adopted what her children had called her “angry mother” pose – hands clasped behind her back, shoulders rolled down and away, spine long and straight, but chin angled down so that she was both much taller than whoever she was addressing and intimidating without being frightening.

 The woman stood firm against Keshaara for a moment, chin jut out in defiance. But all it took was a simple quirk of an eyebrow, and the woman collapsed.

 “We are just following orders, my Lady,” the servant-woman said meekly.

 “I understand, and I am not displeased with you. However I am quite tired of being treated as a pariah for doing what I was asked to do. I am a woman unmatched in my own realm, and I will not stand for being mistreated by those who refuse to acknowledge that my titles are expansive and deserving of the utmost respect. I am Keshaara, a warrior unmatched, a woman of power and might and I will not be treated as anything less than what I am, is this understood?”

 The servant nodded, looking properly scolded, and bowed her head.

 “What is your name, then? I do like knowing the names of those who assist me, at least.”

 “I am called Dómhildr.”

 “Well met then. I am Keshaara. Are you here to serve me, or am I to be left alone?”

 “I have been assigned to assist you.”

 “And undoubtedly to watch me carefully. Show me about these new quarters of mine and tell me, then, what is expected of me, as Champion?”

 Dómhildr nodded, and began to speak.

 “This is the open foyer. You will receive guests that are allowed past the guards in front of the doors here. The doors there,” she pointed to the huge floor-to-very-tall-ceiling doors, “open to the veranda you have, with a southward-facing view of Asgard. The doors to the left and right are your private sleeping quarters, your kitchens, my sleeping quarters, and then a place for you to store your clothing and various accoutrements. It is not a…well organized or well designed room, but I will ask if you can be moved some place else-”

 “That won’t be necessary. This room will suffice. Inform the guards that Loki is allowed into my room at any time, for any reason, but that all others must be announced and invited in on a person-by-person basis. Excluding you, of course.”

 Dómhildr furrowed her brows, confused.

 “You said this room offered insult.”

 “No, I asked if insult was being offered when I was given this room. It was, so I made my displeasure with that known. But the room will suffice. Inform me of the social conventions of Asgard, if you please, Dómhildr. My homeland is much different from here, and I would rather not offer undue insult of my own.”

 Dómhildr nodded in understanding, and gently walked Keshaara through the new culture she found herself in. Keshaara and her wandered around the room. Dómhildr was a shorter woman, coming just barely up to Keshaara’s shoulder, with blonde hair that was plaited neatly up out of her eyes. Dómhildr was of a slender frame, but an obviously indomitable spirit. Keshaara may have momentarily cowed her, but she was already recovering, talking with the cool collection of a woman very accustomed to being listened to.

 Keshaara listened attentively, seeking information as it was given so that she could use it to her advantage.

 “And tonight at the dinner, you will be expecting…well everyone will be expecting something for a surety, though I do not think any of them are prepared for whatever you are.”

 Keshaara offered Dómhildr a wan grin.

 “I should certainly hope not. If they know what to expect, my appearance will be banal. I would far rather keep them on their toes. What shall I wear to such an event? I have but the one formal outfit, and my armor has been taken from me. Are there seamstresses who can work on such short notice? Am I allowed to commission the blacksmith for some of his work…or work in the smithy myself? I can do both, I just have no…funds to speak of.”

 Dómhildr smiled.

 “We will arrange for all of that. As for a dressmaker, I do not wish to brag, but I am one of the best in Asgard. I will make as many formal outfits as you require as long as you are here. I think, now that we are a little better acquainted, I am looking forward to this.”

 Keshaara inclined her head.

 

* * *

 

 

It was a few hours later, after Dómhildr had sketched and resketched and then, finally, decided on a dress design before vanishing from the room, leaving Keshaara alone in her new living quarters. She was hesitant as she moved from room to room, looking first at her bed room, which was just as luxurious as the main room, but decorated sparsely. That did not much bother her.

She ran a hand across the sheets, and found them to be far softer than she would have imagined. Keshaara sat on the edge of the bed, and turned her head to look out the huge windows in her room. The sky was still bright, but she knew soon, it would darken. Dómhildr would bring her dress, if it was finished, and she would go spend time with people she did not know.

 The stars would be different.

 For the first time in four hundred and seventy three years she would look at a sky that was unfamiliar. She would look up and she would not be comforted by the Lover, who throughout all these years had watched over her. Keshaara…the thought of it made her profoundly sad. She gestured and the shades closed, leaving her in darkness.

 She would not let anyone see her fear, see her doubt, see the fact that she had only been away from Skyrim for but a few days, if that, and she was already nearly heartbreakingly homesick. She folded her hands in her lap and bowed her head. She heard someone enter the main room, and initially assumed it was Dómhildr.

 Keshaara swiped a hand across her eyes and stood. She was about halfway to the door when it was thrown open. Light lanced into the darkened room, and she saw bright _bright_ blue eyes moments before Loki had her wrapped in his arms.

 “Loki what are you-”

 He silenced her with a kiss, crushing her into his body. She made a sound of protest which he tried to crush out of her with a brutal squeeze. Keshaara felt something deep and dangerous in the kiss, something not wholly Loki, but still a _part_ of him reach for her. Her instincts hissed, and before the consideration of what was being done could rush through her, she reacted. Improperly, for a surety, but she reacted.

 “Krojunsekrah, zu’u hinin.”

 The words burned her tongue, and they tasted of betrayal, but she needed him to just stop. Just stop.

 He froze and she shoved him away from her, magic at her fingers in case he thought to strike her. Again, blue faded to green, but the madness in his gaze did not falter. The skin around his eyes was dark and his hair was slick with sweat and oil. Loki looked sick, as he had looked when she had found him in Skyrim. He did not move to touch her again, standing tall and clenching his hands tightly at his sides. The way he looked at her…it was not the way you looked at a friend, a companion, anyone you knew well enough to embrace as he had embraced her.

 No, he was looking at her like a starved, rabid wolf regarded the lame lamb.

 “Loki, what is _wrong_?” she hissed at him, still ready for the very real possibility that he was going to strike her. There was an unsettling feeling deep in her gut, caused by

 He did not say anything, not right away.

 “You are my Champion, Keshaara. You are bound to do as I command,” he grit out through clenched teeth, his voice low and grating.

 “Just so. But there is something wrong. You are not the same man I knew in Skyrim and I know this is not _you_.”

 He reached for her, and Keshaara could interpret it in no other way than an attack. She could not have him touching her when there was…this darkness in the undercurrent of their interactions. Because she **craved** his touch, she knew it was not something internal to her. She could feel whatever madness lurked within him reaching for her and there was a deep, dark craving to have it in her too.

 Her magic lashed out, pale green and intimidating, but it alit with utmost gentleness upon Loki’s flesh. A calming spell, like the one she had used in Markarth all those years ago. His legs faltered as she poured all of her energy into the spell. She reached out to catch him as he fell, grabbing him by the collar and the waist and supporting his weight as consciousness fled from him. Carefully, she hefted him in her arms and walked him to her bed, to lay him on the only somewhat-rumpled sheets there.

 Keshaara looked down at the slumbering Loki, her heart beating painfully hard against her ribs. She had been right. There was a very ill portent in the air, and it seemed to be centered on Loki, whether he wanted it to be or not. Golden light lit her fingertips and she ghosted them through the air over his body. She could not shake the urge (Divines was it a _need_?) to rouse him with her mouth slanted across his, with her bare body pressed to his own, but she knew it was not an urge that was hers and hers alone. Keshaara may be a woman of desire, and may acknowledge that her heartache at being so far from home and at having been alone for so long, but the desire was dark inside of her and her time in Skyrim had not been free from Sanguine's influences. Dark desires lit dark urges in her.

 It was a dark, deep craving that was not natural to her. It was not her, it wasn’t her, it wasn’t her but part of her desperately wanted it to be.

 Keshaara clenched her jaw around the betraying thoughts in her mind, and set to her job. The golden light was not to heal – though if she found anything to heal, she would. Her magic would only pull if there was something to be healed. She needed to diagnose what the issue was before she could go around fixing whatever ailed her Prince. The Prince. Loki. Whatever ailed Loki.

 She started at his feet, gently letting her magic flow over him. Nothing. There was no indication of anything that would require any sort of healing. Slowly, Keshaara worked her way up his legs, not allowing herself to stop and fondle when she passed over the crux of his legs. She could see the outline of his already-hard cock through the cloth of his pants and it took most of, if not all of her substantial willpower to move on and ignore how empty her mouth felt and how tight her clothing was. She was trying to help Loki, and she really rather doubted that mouthing his hardness through the fabric of his clothing was helpful.

 Keshaara had to straighten up on her own because the compulsion had had her bending at the hips to get herself just that slightest bit closer. She shook her head and moved her hands up his torso, checking his hands and arms at the same time. Nothing was apparent, nothing pulled her magic away from her in an indication of something that needed to be healed. Nothing came up, but she knew that something had to be wrong. This was not how things were and her instincts had never once been wrong before. Never once, and now they were telling her that something was wrong. She was not going to ignore them just because she could not see any sign of trauma on his head and if there was no trauma, what would there be to heal?

 She brought her hands up as a perfunctory movement. There was nothing wrong with his head – she could see no wounds, no seeping poisonous boil that could be causing him to act out…

 The hunger reached for her, and her magic flared as bright as the sun as it dove at a wound hidden even from her gaze. The pull was deeper than she would have ever thought it capable of being, and she found herself thrust into a deep black void, alone.

 In the intrinsic way people are aware or unaware of their bodies, Keshaara knew that she was not physically transported anywhere, but that her consciousness had been moved somewhere else. There was nothing else in the void. Nothing but her…and the blue light. The warm, inviting blue light. Keshaara knew she should be wary of such things, but the light promised warmth and love and comfort. It promised her everything she could have ever wanted. It offered her power and love and most of all it offered her _power_. Power enough to make an entire realm kneel to her, power to take back what had been taken from her, power and power and power everlasting. She could rule. She could rule and be the rightful queen she had always been born to be. Her name was nothing before the rightness she felt when she considered ruling. Ruling all of Asgard, all of the Nine Realms, all of reality as it existed in this place, and she could have everything she wanted. Everything that had been denied to her and given to others.

  _No, not her. Do not…not her. Leave her be, leave her be._

 The voice…the voice came from all around her, plaintive and tired. She had never heard a voice more tired than that. Keshaara twisted around, searching for the source. None was apparent. The darkness faded and she found herself back in her own body again, freed from the intoxicating thoughts of domination.

 She looked down at Loki, who was slumbering still, if a bit fitfully, and frowned. There was still a great deal of mystery around what was happening, but now she had an inkling of an explanation. The blue light, Loki’s blue eyes, the feeling of desire and need that flushed through her when either of those were near her…they perhaps had started to make more sense.

 Keshaara heard the door open, and moved to greet whoever had entered her room, leaving Loki for the moment, trying to recover from whatever had been infecting her.


	8. Strengja

The Tale of the Dragonborn

* * *

 

Dómhildr was waiting for her as Keshaara exited her bedroom. In the servant-woman’s hands was a plain-looking box. There was a flush high on Dómhildr’s cheeks, and she was panting lightly.

 “I had to hurry. The feast will be soon, and I do need to do something with that nest you call hair. And we will have to apply the proper cosmetics. You are, after all, a Champion.”

 Keshaara allowed herself to smile at Dómhildr. It seemed the woman just needed a nudge to open up to her. She liked that. Keshaara had always liked it when she made new friends. Perhaps Dómhildr was not a friend just yet, but the woman had warmed to her. This was always something good to see. She enjoyed that.

 “Just so. What have you made for me?”

 “I think, as Loki’s Champion, we should continue on the theme of unpredictability. There are not many women who are warriors here. Not in the same style of you and Sif, at least. But you are a woman, yet, and they should respect that.”

 “Just so. I believe, at least, having these ones see me as female first will make the first fight all the more…satisfactory. If they truly cannot comprehend one who is both a woman and a warrior unmatched, that is their fault.”

 Dómhildr nodded.

 “I had a similar thought. So, we shall have you dressed, and then set you lose upon them. Be sure they know that you are a force to be reckoned with and all of that.”

 Keshaara laughed, and reached for the box Dómhildr held her in hands, only to have the servant woman move the box from her reach.

 “No. I want you to see this only after everything is together. Come and sit, and I will do your hair for you. If I recall, you said braids were the preferred method of hair styling.”

 Dómhildr led her to one of the many side rooms, opening the door to where Keshaara’s sparse clothing collection was stored. There was a large mirror in the room, and a table

 “Yes, braids left down, at least. I do rather dislike having my hair pulled up off the nape of my neck. It makes me feel exposed, as it were.”

 “That _would_ indicate you are unmarried,” Dómhildr said hesitantly, looking at Keshaara.

 “I am, currently, unmarried. Do widows wear their hair differently?”

 Dómhildr was silent for a while.

 “You will your hair however you would like. I am sorry for your loss. Was your husband…”

 “He was a good, honest man. I trusted him with my life, and he trusted me with his. We had a long marriage, and a fruitful one. He died as he wanted to, and I mourned him as he needed to be mourned. There is not much else to our story. It is a short one, compared to how long I have lived on, alone.”

 Keshaara’s voice was stiff, sharp with age and old resentment. She should have been dead with Farkas, they should have gone into that draugr catacomb together, they should have been dead together and her story should have ended long ago. But no, she was still alive and the years had only dragged on further.

 Dómhildr was silent, and moved to tending to Keshaara’s hair. As Keshaara had done for Loki many years before, Dómhildr tended to the Dovahkiin’s hair. Carefully, and with gentle touches, Dómhildr pulled Keshaara’s hair back into a nest of braids, clasped at the base of her skull with an intricate golden clasp, but as requested, the rest of Keshaara’s hair was left freeflowing and loose. Only, of course, after Dómhildr had brushed and brushed and brushed Keshaara’s hair until the normally dull auburn hair shone like the finest polished wood. Dull ends, frayed tips of hair were cut away, then brushed again until Dómhildr was satisfied with her work.

 “I am still in my other clothing, Dómhildr. I would hate to muss my hair by redressing.”

 Dómhildr chuckled.

 “Do not worry. Your dress does not go over your head, and with your hair done, I do not have to worry about it later. Now come, step out of those clothing, and I shall get you into your new gown. No peeking!”

 Keshaara rolled her eyes, but began unfastening her clothing, obliging Dómhildr by closing her eyes and allowing the other woman to redress her. The unfamiliar feeling of another woman dressing her was…odd. Not unpleasant, just unusual for Keshaara. Not even her Housecarls had ever done anything more intimate than occasionally help her into and out of her armor, and being naked in front of another woman who was not a bedmate for the evening was not something Keshaara often indulged in.

 The feeling of nakedness was soon covered by soft silk being pulled up over her hips and fastened at her throat and shoulders. Dómhildr adjusted the clothing, pulling it this way and that across her body, until Dómhildr was assured it was laying properly.

 “You are a might bit thinner than your armor would suggest, I will have to take this corset in before it will fit properly.”

 There was a sudden tightening around her waist and chest, and Keshaara made a strangled hissing sound.

 “Or…not. Do your people not wear corsets?”

 “No. No one wears such an infernal contraption unless it is made for being torn off moments later by whatever paramour requested such a damned thing.”

 Dómhildr snorted under her breath, and tightened the corset a few more times, until Keshaara was just about positive she would never be able to breathe again. Still, the Dovahkiin had faced worse things than a dress that did not seem as if it actually fit, and she complained no more than a plaintive “why” muttered when she thought Dómhildr was not paying attention.

 The woman, of course, heard, and gently chided Keshaara as she began to drape jewelry onto her neck, ears and head.

 “Where is the jewelry coming from, Dómhildr?”

 “These are things that are not considered high-quality enough to be given to any of the other ladies of the court. One of the apprentice jewelcrafters made it, and he has a bit of an eye for me. These are not the finest of items, but they will do nicely.”

 Keshaara heard the chiming of chains, and Dómhildr’s hands gently ghosting through her hair. Without being able to see, however, there was not much Keshaara could note. She could feel Dómhildr’s presence moving around her, and acknowledged that this woman knew more than she did about the art of beauty, but there was not much else she could think of. This was not the sort of thing she was accustomed to. Even when she had to visit with the King and his Queen, even when she was called into the houses of the Jarls who had honored her with the titleship of Thane, she had never been expected to do anything other than show up in the nicest clothing she owned. No one expected the Dovahkiin to arrive in unmatched splendor. Her title was enough, her age was enough, her power had always been enough to awe those around her.

 Here, it seemed, much and more emphasis was placed on how well she presented herself. How odd it was to Keshaara’s sensibilities that more weight be placed on how she looked than the mean curve of her axe or the subtle wave of magic that permeated the air around her. It was odd, and uncomfortable to be placed in such a position when for so long her name alone had been enough.

 Hells, her sons and daughters, adopted and trueborn, had all chosen to take her name as their lineage-name. Farkas’s family was honored, for a surety, but there were Kessons and Keshsons and Keshaarasons before there were any Farkassons. They knew, and the whole of Skyrim knew that Keshaara was the Dovahkiin, savior of Tamriel, destroyer of Alduin, Archmage and Thane over and over and over again.

 It was disheartening and above all else, insulting, to be paraded around like some favorite pet in all the finest jewels a servant-woman could scrounge up for her. Not that Keshaara was angry with Dómhildr, no. The woman was doing what she could, and doing the best she could with the undoubtable insult that had been meant to her by being assigned _Loki’s_ Champion. The thought that Dómhildr was being punished or otherwise insulted as much as Keshaara was made her pause for a moment, anger bubbling up inside of her.

 “Dómhildr, are you being offered insult by being assigned to me as housecarl?”

 “Housecarl is not a word I know, my lady.”

 “Ahn, steward, I suppose? I do not know your title proper. Housecarl is the title given to those who serve a Thane. I had a housecarl for every home I owned and land I lorded in Skyrim, and all of them were great men and women – warriors fair and very good at tending to my hair when needed.”

 Dómhildr laughed, still working on adjusting all of Keshaara’s clothing and accoutrements. Dómhildr was quiet for a while after that, carefully applying cosmetics to Keshaara’s face. Keshaara held very still, not wanting to get jabbed in the eye. Aside from her war-paint and occasional clan-marks, Keshaara had never really worn any sort of cosmetic anything. She never saw the point, and more importantly, she had never acquired the skill.

 “I am a handmaid, or servant, which ever suits you. And I am not offered insult by you, but it was meant to be insulting, yes. I had displeased my previous lady by breaking one of her favored vases. I was dismissed from her service, and you happened around, so she had me assigned to you as a punishment. Now, open your eyes.”

 Keshaara obliged, looking first at Dómhildr, to see if she was doing fine. Dómhildr beamed at her, and gestured for Keshaara to look in the bronzed mirror before her.

 The woman that made eye contact with Keshaara bore very little resemblance to the Dovahkiin that had travelled hither and thither through Skyrim in a quest unending. Delicate golden chains dropped from the circlet set with chips of fired opals to trace the lines of her braids back to the clasp Dómhildr had originally set in her hair. Her eyes were outlined in smokey black khol, but flecks of gold dotted the space between her lashes and brow, making the dichromic red-golds of her irises burn with an intensity Keshaara had not seen before. Her lips were dusted with a nearly rusted red color that made her skin look flawless, somehow. From her ears hung delicate gold wires, studded with deep amber cabochons, and around her neck hung a simple golden chain that reached just barely to the swell of her breasts.

 The collar of the gold and deep ochre dress she wore was high, covering her collarbones and the dip of her throat, but her arms and shoulders were left bare, displaying the lean, defined muscle of her shoulders. The dress itself was layered gossamer silks, with only the corset to provide definition to her form. As much as Keshaara did not want to admit it, the corset made her look…different. Her waist was drawn in and small, and the flare of her hips looked that much more dramatic, her long legs looked longer, and the rather forced straightening of her back made her look _regal_. The dress flowed off her body to the floor, where it pooled like liquid gold. Keshaara was nearly utterly unrecognizable as the now, admittedly scruffy, Dovahkiin who had stood as Loki’s Champion before the court.

 “That is astonishing, Dómhildr. I have no idea what magic you pulled, but this is…stunning.”

 The woman in the mirror’s mouth moved, and it was still shocking to Keshaara to see that woman as her.

 “I did no magic. I have no skill for it, I am told. I merely accentuated what was already there.”

 Dómhildr spoke softly, but was clearly quite proud of what she had done and was looking over Keshaara with nothing but approval in her eyes.

 “As you gain victories, I think I shall start having your dress altered appropriately. The Lady Sif wears her gowns much differently, and she is the only outspoken woman-warrior we have seen. I think if we just…overlayed styled armor on this as you gain victories, that could be very entrancing on your form. The dress will be the only one you wear, but it will change as you win.”

 Keshaara grinned.

 “You have confidence in such a lowly thing as Loki’s Champion, do you?”

 Dómhildr looked to her, her brows drawn down.

 “If Loki called you from the Realm you lived in, your Skyrim, and you came not only to his side, but braved Jotunheim for him, and then publically pronounced your belief in him, and your willingness to be his Champion…I cannot think that he can be held guilty for long. You are a woman unmatched, as you say, and I do not think one such as you would fall so easily. Not when you declared yourself with such vigor. Regardless of his guilt, I believe you will see to his freedom.”

 For a moment, Keshaara was stunned into silence. Dómhildr was very astute in her reckoning, and Keshaara appreciated the candidness with which this handmaiden spoke.

 “Would you rather I fail?”

 “No. You must win. You losing proves nothing. Your winning proves everything. Besides,” Dómhildr said with a wry smile as she reached forward to adjust the lay of the fabric across Keshaara’s chest. “It will be funny to see how everyone reacts to you.”

 Keshaara snorted.

 “Just so. Just so.”

 Dómhildr grinned up at her and led her from the room. The shoes she had slipped onto Keshaara’s feet were soft and made no sound as she moved. They exited the glorified closet together, and Dómhildr happily led Keshaara to the door of her quarters. Only Keshaara noticed that the door to her bedroom, which she had closed upon exiting was the slightest bit ajar. Loki must have awoken and made his escape from her room, then. Keshaara rather hoped she would not encounter him on the way to the feast.

Not looking like this, and without a weapon, at least.


	9. Augabragð

The Tale of the Dragonborn

The Tale of the Jotun Prince

* * *

 

 

Dómhildr led her through the palace. There was not much conversation as they walked. Dómhildr was careful to tell her only as much as was necessary to know – directions back to her room, who she should ask for should she get lost, what to say and apparently most importantly, how to offer the appropriate reverences to the King and Queen.

 Keshaara listened attentively, but when Dómhildr was done explaining the intricacies of the proper curtsey, she spoke up.

 “Dómhildr, how would one curtsey if they were the mother of a King? Say, Frigga’s mother was still alive. How would she curtsey to the current Queen?”

 “That is an…odd question. For all intents and purposes, she would not curtsey at all, but incline her head in an acknowledgement of the current Queen. But Frigga’s mother is dead. Why do you ask?”

 “I am curious, that is all. Things are much different in Skyrim. The High King and his Queen were good acquaintances of mine, and I was never urged to offer them any sort of overt acknowledgement.”

 “Really? I would imagine a High King would require the respect of all in his lands, even if you are a decorated hero.”

 Keshaara chuckled. The door to the feast was in sight, and Dómhildr was pulling away, clearly not invited to the frivolities. Keshaara would have to walk the final few steps to the guarded door alone, it appeared. She was not overly bothered by that, but she could not help the conspiratorial lean and grin on her face as she turned back to Dómhildr for a moment.

 “It is a little hard to tell Grandma to bow, I suppose.”

 Dómhildr gave a squeak of belated surprise as she realized what Keshaara had suggested, but by the time she was rushing forward to make her deepest, most sincere apologies for having given her incorrect information, Keshaara was smiling and crossing the threshold into the feast.

 The doors closed on Dómhildr’s sighed apologies.

 No one announced her presence. In fact, she saw no royal announcer. For once, she agreed with an Asgardian custom, it seemed. Court announcers were royally annoying, and her list of titles took far too long to recite in full. Keshaara rarely bothered with the full length of her titles, and had not even given them when she had been announcing herself as Loki’s Champion. It was a tedious list, full of heroic-sounding titles that meant nothing more to her than the weapon or bauble that had accompanied it. She was not sorry that most of those had been left behind. Heirloom weapons had heirloom fractures, dings, poorly crafted enchantments and poorly thought out designs.

 She shook her head to draw herself out of the momentary reverie she had been lost in. There were dozens of people already in attendance – most of the men carried their shorter, smaller weapons at their hips, and the women were dressed rather similarly to her, unarmed and decorative. No one paid her any special attention. In fact, most eyes skimmed casually over her without any sort of recognition or flash of understanding. Keshaara did look vastly different dressed as she was. It was funny.

 A smile lit her lips as she walked about the milling people. Food had not yet been served, so there was rambling conversation and polite utterances all around her. She did not stalk about the gathering, even though she was not invited into conversation, nor did she expect to be. She was, of course, not expecting anyone to recognize her for a while. So she meandered, and watched the assembled people carefully, but doing her very best to not appear as if she was doing so. It would be unfitting to be found out so easily.

 Keshaara did not see Loki, which she thought was odd. Perhaps he would be coming later, she thought, and then thought no more about it. What was far more interesting was listening to the ebb and flow of the conversations around her. If she unfocused her attention and did not allow herself to actually listen to anything, the conversations faded into the comforting mutterances of a language she did not understand. She allowed herself a small smile as she continued meandering.

 “Oh, my lady, hello.”

 A man with blonde hair and a well-trimmed beard was speaking to her, his eyes bright and a smile on his lips.

 Keshaara inclined her head to him.

 “Hello.”

 “I must confess, I have not seen you around before. You must be new. Have you heard of the happenings?”

 The man had a pleasant voice and a nice countenance. Keshaara figured she should humor him, and smiled politely.

 “And I confess, I have been rather out of the loop. I have been travelling hither and thither to tend to familial matters as of late, though I hear much has happened while I have been away.”

 “Ah, so much! Come, sit with me and I shall regale you with the grand tale.”

 Keshaara allowed the man to guide her by the elbow to the table where the rest of the people that Keshaara recognized as being those who had fought alongside her in Jotunheim were already sitting. Except for the woman – who must, then, be the Sif that Dómhildr spoke of. Keshaara sat gracefully when a spot was offered her, and folded her hands delicately in her lap.

 “Fandral! Who do you bring to our table?”

 The one who had wielded the large waraxe spoke, his fingers already greasy with melted fat, even though food had had yet to be served. The last, a silent one with his black hair pulled back, the one who had wielded the mace offered her a terse nod in greeting. Keshaara, ever quick on her feet had a name already on her tongue, and a name that was not quite a lie.

 “I am Kesh Thuridottir, and am honored to be invited to talk with the famed Warriors Three.”

 She offered the three a polite smile.

 “Kesh! Wonderful. Now, as we were saying,” Fandral said, turning towards Keshaara (and rather neatly blocking the other two out with his frame, certainly not an intentional, no not at all), “Of late, Loki has been freed by a she-warrior from Jotunheim. Heimdall says that this woman has never been seen by his eyes, and must therefore be an aberration, an anomaly in the world. Loki holds that he summoned her and testified before the Allfather that she was a being from beyond this realm, a realm he had visited in his dream-walking.”

 Keshaara made a shocked sound under her breath, lifting a hand over her mouth. Fandral, so encouraged, carried on with great gusto.

 “We all thought it was madness, until she managed to escape us all as soon as her feet touched the ground in Asgard. She outran Heimdall and Thor both, using some sort of magic, and vanished entirely until she reappeared inside the palace at Loki’s side. Her magic disarmed everyone in the area and she sent one of the guardsmen to the infirmary with terrors unrelenting dancing through his mind. She declared herself Loki’s Champion and then gained his freedom through the trickery of her own words. Had I not seen her in Jotunheim fighting, separated by a whole realm from Loki himself, I would have thought her some sort of construct.”

 “Is he truly that powerful a mage? I had no idea…”

 “He is the most powerful mage in all of the Nine Realms, he would have people believe. He is as mad as a bag of hornets, that is for sure. I do not know what sort of magic he used to ensnare the woman who calls herself his Champion, but it must truly be a shared madness.”

 “I am sure it will all be clear soon. Do you plan to face his Champion?”

 Keshaara was doing her very best to keep from allowing her smile to grow too large. She was genuinely interested in what Fandral was going to say about her.

 “It remains to be seen. If a person or group calls on me to Champion their cause against her, then I shall. As it is, I believe I shall enjoy watching this outsider do battle. She seemed as if she could be easy on the eyes, with a little cleaning up,” he winked at her, and Keshaara offered him a tight smile, “she could be as stunning as you, my lady fair.”

 His hand alighted gently on her wrist, and he beamed at her. Keshaara’s smile grew wider. This man, Fandral, was astoundingly charming, even if he was talking about her _to_ her.

 His eyes alit upon an old scar, a faded one that traced the line of her left arm’s deltoid muscle. Almost automatically it seemed, his hand came to brush the line of the scar.

 “Now what tale have you to explain such a nasty thing on such beautiful skin?”

 Keshaara looked down to the scar, paying far more attention to the dense calluses that dotted Fandral’s hand, softened as they were with lotions, there was still no way to deny their presence. The touching she allowed merely because it was an old warrior’s greeting. One she was rather pleased to find held true in Asgard, or at least, one that could be approximated by a man clearly interested in her as some sort of bed-mate.

 “I took issue with a creature who dared defile a familial cairn, and it, issue with me. There was a fight, I walked away, and the other did not.”

 She half expected this to give her away – most women in Asgard did not fight, but it seemed as if Fandral took it all in stride. Perhaps they were merely not _expected_ to fight.

 “Such beauty, tarnished.”

 “You compliment me generously, Fandral,” Keshaara said tightly as his thumb stroked the old wound. Her words had a bite that took him aback, however. No one dared tell her that a scar so won was anything but honorable, not until him.

 She gently stroked the back of his hand to soothe the words, however, and leaned in closer to him. He smiled at her broadly.

 “Not at all, Lady Kesh. Your eyes are like setting sun captured in the finest glass-”

 “And like the most precious of fire opals, yes, it is known. Keshaara, what are you doing sitting here?”

 The familiar voice of Loki broke into the conversation, and sensing that the conversation with Fandral was over, Keshaara stood.

 “I was invited to sit with the Warriors Three, and took them up on their kind offerance. I doubt I will remain welcome, so where am I meant to sit, then?”

 Fandral made a soft chuckling sound in the back of his throat.

 “You are the Champion Keshaara, then?”

 Keshaara turned to him and offered a shrug of her shoulder as apology.

 “Just so. My apologies for any misconduct on my part. I merely wished to see what was thought of me. I am, after all, very new here.”

 Loki scoffed beneath his breath. Fandral, for his part, nodded his acceptance of her words and inclined his head in a gentle bow. Keshaara made a mental note to herself to see if she could perhaps talk with him again at a later time. He did not seem overtly annoyed with the small deception, and in fact looked as if he was almost pleased with her. Somehow, Keshaara got the impression that Fandral was perhaps the only other person in Asgard who would look at her like that.

 “Kesh, you are to sit with me. This way.”

 “As you say, Loki.”

 “What were you thinking, sitting with them? They are your enemies,” he hissed in the tongue of Skyrim.

 “They are just people that I wanted to observe, Loki. Nothing more. If they do not meet me in battle, there is nothing gained. As it is, they have seen me and taken my merit and perhaps been annoyed by me. Nothing has been gained there either,” Keshaara responded in kind as Loki lead her through the feast to a more suitable table.

 Titters and whispers followed them, with the stunning revelation that the beautiful stranger was in fact the spitfire Champion who had named herself in front of the court and challenged Odin – and _won_. She looked Aesir now, and standing next to Loki, she looked like the dawn that came after a night of darkness. Her dress draped across her body in a manner that caught the eye, drawing attention to the pleasing curves of her frame. Standing next to Loki, of course, only increased the apparent beauty of them both. No one could ever deny that Loki was not ethereally attractive, and with Keshaara at his side, the both of them looked…divine.

 “You should focus less on observing, and more on preparing for battle. You are my Champion, and I will not have you-”

 “That is _quite_ enough, Loki. I am your Champion, yes. But that does not mean that you are the arbiter of my every action. I am Keshaara Dovahkiin, not Keshaara Lokisbitch. I will do what I must do as your Champion, fear not. I will not, however, let you command me around like some dog. You valued me enough to call me as Champion, and you should respect me enough to understand that much has changed since you last saw me.”

 Keshaara was careful to keep her voice light and neutral as she spoke so as to not alert others to the possible tiff between her and Loki. The language was one barrier, but she had not been so out of the loop of royalty that she did not know how to say one thing while looking as if something else entirely was being spoken of. Loki’s eyes were dark with fury, but he did not reach for her as he had before.

 “How much could have changed in the short time you were apart from me, Kesh?”

 Her name was a curse on his lips, and Keshaara could not help but laugh.

 “It was four hundred and fifty years for me, Loki. Time must flow differently in these places, because what was apparently enough time for you to revert back to the selfsame asshole who fell out of a tree and tried to strongarm me then was enough time for me to live lifetimes, enough time for me to raise my child – adopt my children, watch them all grow old and die, watch all of those you knew grew old and die, and enough time for me to grow tired of standing watch over graves. There was plenty of time for things to change. I have no urge to kowtow to you, no need to beg your forgiveness. I am your _Champion_ , Loki. You must trust me.”

 Loki’s lip curled in a sneer to cover the momentary flash of hurt in his eyes, and not-too-gently, he grabbed her forearm, just over the scar Fandral had been rubbing his thumb across.

 “Trust _nothing_ , Keshaara,” he snarled at her, pulling her close to him and crowding her personal space.

 “I trust _you_ , Loki. You know that I do. You had my back in Skyrim. Now I have yours. Trust me.”

 She laid her hand over his and rested her forehead against Loki’s own. He made a small gasp in the back of his throat, a sound that echoed throughout the others gathered. His hand tightened on her arm for a moment, but then relaxed, and slid down the length of her arm. Almost hesitantly, he brushed his fingers across the back of her knuckles and drew away.

 “You do trust me, Keshaara?”

 “Of course I do. I would not be your Champion if I did not. But you need to trust me too. I cannot help you if I cannot have your trust.”

 He nodded minutely, and stepped away from her. Keshaara beamed at him, and he led her to a table apart from all of the others, with few chairs and no nearby loiterers. He gestured for her to sit, and she did so, keeping her gaze on his. The others in the room had settled into their seats as well, and the feast began, with food being brought out in huge armfuls from the servants around them all. Loki and Keshaara sat, removed from the others, at a table far less ornate and far less well-lit.

 Loki glowered, Keshaara beamed at anyone who looked her way, and when the Prince complained of the sub-par lighting, Keshaara rolled her eyes and flicked her hand. Orbs of white light sprang up around the table, and she directed them to hover at an appropriate height above her and Loki’s table, wreathing them in glittering pearlescent light. Loki’s frown transformed into a broad grin as he looked up at the trio of light-orbs that were now orbiting above their table, and their table alone, and he reached across the space between them to rest his fingertips on her wrist. Keshaara smiled at him, and smiled at the servants, thanking them for every item they brought to the table, to the servant’s surprise. Keshaara smiled at anyone and everyone, her orange-gold eyes glittering and bright.

 All was good, all was murmured conversation and hushed appraisals of Loki’s new Champion until the silence was broken by the first cry of a challenger to Loki’s freedom.


	10. Hverfr

The Tale of the Dragonborn

The Tale of the Jotun Prince

* * *

 

 

“The one named Loki stands accused of stealing from the mage’s sacred texts to obtain forbidden knowledge. We name the Lady Sif to stand as our Champion against the one named as Loki’s Champion, in a duel of magic and might.”

 Loki lifted an eyebrow, looking to the speaker with annoyance. Keshaara looked between Loki and the woman who raised a challenge. Sif, garbed in a dress that was almost as well-fitting as Keshaara’s own gown, stood and accepted the challenge with a tight nod.

 “Does her challenge have merit?” Keshaara inquired of Loki, before she made any other movements.

 “I did not steal anything. It was my book.”

 Keshaara snorted her laughter, but stood.

 “I accept the challenge on behalf of Loki. What manner of duel is this to be? Sif is no mage, and I am ranked battlemage – _Archmage_ of Winterhold.”

 There was a silence over the crowd, and most every eye turned towards her. Loki smirked.

 “Sif is a warrior proud and noble-”

 “Of that I have no doubt. I can read the lines of a warrior in her body, and she is a damn sight finer in her armor than all of the other men who choose to wear their metals poorly. She is, however, no mage, and you are throwing her into combat against the greatest mage in all of Nirn. I am battlemage and Archmage, two titles not given lightly in my homeland. If you wish for her to do battle with me, see that she is well protected. I will not extinguish such a beautiful star in the night sky, not for the sake of any.”

 Sif, for her sake, gawped at her. Keshaara held her head high, staring down her challengers with a gaze fiercer than any that had ever been seen in Asgard before. There was no denying the Dovahkiin what she asked for.

 “She will be outfitted with the finest enchantments and weapons and you-”

 “Will only have what I already have, yes, I am familiar with my current restrictions. Will you accept her death as being on your hands if your magic is weak? Will you take responsibility for that and all that it entails to be the ones who bear her death on your hands?”

 The challenger was taken aback, as was Sif. Keshaara was arguing for Sif’s safety, not her own. Keshaara had no need to argue for her safety. She knew that the mages here were pale before Loki and Loki was pale before her own power.

 “Her blood would be on your hands if you killed her. Her blood would be on Loki’s.”

 “No it will **not**. You would be the ones sending her to her death, sending her ill prepared against  a mage whose power you do not know. Your fault is not knowing my power and still deciding that an untested mageling is worth trying my mettle. Your fault is sending one of the greatest warriors of this realm against a mage who made the very annals of Oblivion tremble when her name was writ.”

 The bright magelights she had set above Loki’s table flared supernova-bright, and vanished, leaving only darkness. There was a rumble of wariness from those gathered. In the darkness, Keshaara’s amber eyes glowed like embers.

 “I am Keshaara, my voice is that of the storms, I am Archmage and Battlemage unstoppable, and you _will_ see to Sif’s appropriate preparing. I will not have her maimed due to your incompetence, do you understand me?”

 Keshaara’s voice was frozen steel, and bit just as ferociously. The lights returned after a few tense moments, and Keshaara stood still. Her challenger nodded emphatically, and sat very very quickly. When she looked to Sif, the other warrior looked as if she could not decide whether to be thankful for the intrusion or furious that Keshaara thought she could not handle herself in the realm of battle. Keshaara held her head tall and did not avert her eyes, not even as Sif decided on anger as her response.

 It was a long few minutes before conversation started again. Keshaara sat, eventually, turning to the food she had yet to enjoy. She had only a few moments of peace before Loki was tugging on her elbow urgently, whispering words she could not catch over the hum of conversation. She gestured with her free hand that she could not hear him, using the combat-signs she had used with him all the way back in Nchuand-Zel. He nodded, and signed back.

  _I am returning to my room. Follow after me in a few minutes. I need to speak with you. It is urgent, Keshaara._

 She nodded her acquiescence, and Loki left, vanishing out of the room as fast as he could walk. Keshaara watched him leave, stilling her movements until he was completely out of her sight. She was offered but a few minutes of silence, of the comfort of being alone in the presence of others, before she heard someone approaching her from behind.

 Gracefully, she turned and rose from her seat again, leaving a hand on the table…close to the large carving knife for the suckling pig that had barely been touched. It was Fandral, with Sif shadowing behind him, her eyes dark with anger.

 “Fandral, Sif. Greetings,” Keshaara said stiffly. Her fingers did not move.

 “What was that, Kesh?” Fandral asked, his smile biting through his words.

 “Proper respect for an opponent, really. Is this not how it is done in Asgard? A champion should take no honor in a battle if her opponent is ill prepared. Your people seem to have an odd fascination with not taking stock of who you are challenging and running headlong into very dangerous situations. Goodness knows it nearly got Loki killed a few times in Skyrim.”

 Fandral glared at her mistrustfully, but was careful to keep his smile in place. Keshaara rather figured that that smile was some sort of armor, a shield to hide behind as much as Loki’s acerbic tongue was the same for him.

 “You meant not to offer insult to me by stating that I could not stand against you?” Sif spat angrily.

 Keshaara offered the woman a withering stare.

 “I am the Archmage. No, you cannot hope to best me if I am bound to only using my magic. It is not sporting for me, nor proof of anything if I kill you within moments of the bout starting. Which, I shall inform you, is something quite within my ability to do so. Because, yes, Archmage.”

 “What does Archmage even _mean_?”

 The venom in Sif’s voice has not faded and Keshaara finds herself growing angry at this turn of events. How dare she, how _dare_ Sif challenge her like this in public. Keshaara was more than just some damned oddity. Divines, if Keshaara wanted to she could bring all of Asgard down around Sif’s pretty little ears. She had the power and the ability and in the end Sif would know the terror that she possessed within her. Keshaara could feel the sneer pulling at her lips, but refused to let it take shape.

 “It means that in my entire Realm – my Asgard, if you would, I was recognized as the strongest mage. Me. Alone. I mastered all forms of magic of the realm and command them with a finesse that outstripped all others. It means that with a simple gesture I could destroy any one person in here and I choose not to. It means that if an untrained mage seeks to battle me in the art of magic, they _will_ die.”

 Her fury blistered her skin, and as cold as she held her anger, Fandral clearly sensed it, and lifted a hand to cut Sif off.

 “I see. So you truly meant no insult?”

 “Of **course** I meant no insult. I have been trying to be very polite ever since I got here. On the other hand, everyone who interacts with me seems to think it is only fitting to offer me insult after insult and then have the gall to look shocked when I take it poorly. I am a woman of great power, a warrior and mage, a politician and the progenitor of one of the greatest dynasties of Skyrim. You called me ‘Lady’ as a politeness, and did not recognize that I deserve that title as much as I deserve the title Dragonborn, as much as I deserve the title Wolf Queen, the title Savior of Skyrim, Voice of Storms, and on and on and on. You would all do well to perhaps learn something of me.”

 Fandral blanched. Keshaara had taken a single step forward, away from the table and closer to him. She had done nothing threatening, just invaded his space, daring him to do something with a jutting of her jaw. He backed down though, stepping away from her with a very quick apology. Keshaara snorted and turned her head away. Her anger rose like bile in her throat, threatening to spill out of her, but she clenched her teeth against it.

 “My…apologies, Fandral, Sif,” she said, exhaling sharply. “I am not taking this sudden move well, and I fear I have taken it out on the both of you. My lady Sif, I apologize as well. I merely wanted you to have the highest possible protection from those who would have you as Champion. It is the way of my homeland. I meant no disrespect to you. Excuse me.”

 Keshaara walked stiffly away, her dress flaring out behind her. She needed to be…away from them. She could not be near them, they were grating her nerves. As much as she craved being around people, as much as she wanted to learn to enjoy this new realm, it seemed at every move, something would crawl under her skin and irritate her. Loki, especially, irritated her, but she found herself walking towards his room, guided back there by an innate sense of knowing that she had never once questioned until it was leading her down twisting and turning corridors without a moment of confusion.

 It seemed that was the way of the world here in Asgard, however. Nothing ever made sense and everything irritated her. Everything. The dress had cut her breath to the point of near-pain, Fandral was damnably handsome but inanely insulting, Sif was a woman warrior too consumed with being a woman to understand other warriors like her, and on and on and on. The only constant she could stand was Loki, and he made her grit her teeth. Darkness nestled in her chest, making way for itself as her temper roused.

 The door to his room was in front of her before she realized it, and foregoing the politeness she usually possessed (because she had not experienced any form of that since she had landed on Jotunheim), she shoved the door open, storming into Loki’s private rooms without so much as an announcement.

 Loki looked up from his work, some sketches on a desk far from her, and tilted his head to the side.

 “Why is it that your people cannot offer even the simplest of courtesies, Loki? I had forgiven it when it was you, because it was _you_ , but now I find myself surrounded by people who revile my scars, who cannot understand the simplest of courtesies and see trickery in everything I do despite never having done anything to deserve such a treatment.”

 Keshaara advanced as she spoke, stalking towards Loki as her diatribe continued.

 “Everything here is new and strange and it would be wonderful if I did not hear daggers sliding out of sheaths as I walked by, or whispers follow every movement I make. I cannot _stand it_. It grates on my every last nerve to find that not a single person here – not even **you** ,” she snapped as Loki opened his mouth to interrupt her, “can find it within themselves to respect who I am and what I have done. To them, at least, I am the puppet of a villain, but to you? To deal with all of this _from_ you?”

 The sound of a mighty slap echoed through the room, courtesy of a singularly pissed off Dovahkiin.

 “You should know better. You know me. We were friends of sorts, we fought together, and now that you are back, O Prince, I suppose I deserve no better than a common servant, is that it?”

 Her hand came back for a vicious backhand, but Loki caught her wrist. Her lip curled, and her magic whipped around anyway, cracking him across the face. A lash of blood followed the curve of his cheek, and crimson seeped down his face. Shock was etched into Loki’s expression, and Keshaara’s vicious snarl was not abated by the pleasure of seeing that in his eyes.

 “You will _not_ treat me like this Loki. I will not stand for it.”

 It took him moments to find his words, and moments beyond that to turn his head to regard her again. Keshaara’s temper cooled as he allowed the silence to carry on. She did not regret her actions, but she was not about to carry on any further. Her point had been made, and as such, her anger bled out of her.

 “Are you quite done now, Keshaara?”

 Oh, there was that _tone_. The one tone that Loki used specifically to try to get a rise out of someone, the one tone that Keshaara most definitely did not want to hear. In this case, getting Keshaara to react again was as easy as purring those words and smirking at her. Even with blood dripping down his face, when Loki smirked at her, he knew he would affect people. Keshaara’s temper roared in her ears and she did not let herself stop to think, not for even a moment about what she did next.

 “I most certainly am _not_ ,” Keshaara snapped angrily, grabbing Loki by the collar and pulling him towards her.

 This time it was **her** lips that hit his with ferocity, and her that pushed him back against the chair at the desk, pushed him down into that chair and straddled him, still wearing her fine dress. It was her that carded his hair through her fingertips for just a moment before she yanked his hair back and used his half-hearted objection to the rough treatment to twine her tongue around his.

 “Fucking…” she bit his lip until she tasted blood, ignoring his startled cry, “…abrasive…” her hands found the weakest seam of his fine clothing and _ripped_ it off of him, “…arrogant…” she cupped one of her hands around his throat, pushing it back and away from her, cutting off his air, “…insensitive…” her teeth set into the tender flesh on the side of his neck, suckling until she was certain there was a huge purpling bruise blossoming beneath her tongue “…obnoxious…” she breathed into his ear, delighting in the shiver that chased down his spine moments before her tongue was tasting the shell of his ear, “… **tit**.”

 Loki chuckled lowly beneath her, a sound that Keshaara had the luxury of hearing deepen into a throaty moan when she nipped at the lobe of his ear and pressed her thumb into the side of his throat.

 “I am going to undo that silver tongue of yours again until you remember just how you are supposed to be, Loki. I do not care for whatever game you are playing, and I think I will make you forget everything about it until my Loki returns to me.”

 “Yours?” he parroted, glancing at her. The words coming from her would have, at any other time, told Keshaara that something was wrong, that she was not acting herself because she was never this possessive of anyone, never this utterly consumed by the desire to possess someone. But as it was, there was nothing wrong in her mind. Only Loki mattered. Only Loki, because he was…

 “My King, my Prince, mine. Yes. Yes a thousand times. You are mine to protect and behold, you are mine to hold and worship, you are mine, you are mine, _you are mine_.”

 There was something deeply right in those words, something that made her ache with the correct-ness of it all. This was what she was meant to do. It was not her instincts, no it was deeper than instinct. It was this little chip of feeling down inside of her chest, deep and blue and pulsing, and it thrilled her to feel it growing as she declared herself to Loki. She was his Champion. She would be more.


	11. Miskunn

The Tale of the Dragonborn

The Tale of the Jotun Prince 

* * *

 

 

Loki smiled beneath Keshaara’s assault, thrilled that she was on his lap, thrilled again that she was doing pleasurable things to him and letting him do things to her. Her narrowed waist fit all the nicer under his hands (but he missed feeling her flesh and the fullness of it), the soft silks, thin and gauzy, felt softer than her skin (but the scars that traced her body were so much better), the golden chains and wires that crowned her head were glorious (her helm suited her better), and…

 “Kesh, we need to…stop,” he said softly, the words rasping his tongue as he spoke them. “I do not want to-”

 “Then why should we?”

 “-but we need to. This is not…”

 Keshaara had gone back to suckling the side of his neck, bruising him again, as her hands traced unknown symbols across his flesh. Loki grit his teeth against the moan that was in his throat. Every movement she made drove the thought that something was wrong further from him, but he clung desperately to the feeling regardless. This wasn’t Keshaara, it wasn’t. She had never said those words and it was wrong for her to be saying them.

 It thrilled him to have her call him her King, to layer her worship of him with kisses and ferocious declarations. He wanted her, Norns, did he want her. Her nails rasped across his chest, following the contours of his ribs. At the same time, she pressed her lips to the hollow of his throat, humming a question that Loki did not catch because he was too caught up with the overwhelming feeling rushing up inside of him. Keshaara pushed his head back painfully far so she could better bite and bruise his neck, not caring that he made a grunt of discomfort.

 She kissed the flesh of his neck over the bruises she had layered there, and slowly worked her way up over the chiseled jawbone that she loved feeling against her mouth or cradled in her hands. Keshaara could not recall the words she was saying, even as she said them, but they made Loki squirm beneath her, and his hands jerk up to grab at her, pull her closer as best he could with her manhandling him like she was.

 “Kesh, Kesh, Kesh,” he muttered, trying to force the words from within him, but everything that came up his throat was transformed midway into her name.

 Keshaara hummed. She kissed the corner of his mouth, tilting his head back so she could stand and lean over him. Loki made some small sound of discomfort, and Keshaara chuckled at it, pushing his head back further and slanting her mouth across his hungrily. She kissed him ferociously, pulling him up into her embrace, not caring about his pained hiss, only really wanting him to react and kiss her back. Her name sounded sweeter than honey when Loki said it, but the craving to hear him lose the ability to speak coherently again was all she craved.

 She fucked his mouth with her tongue, relentlessly delving deep into Loki’s mouth until he responded the way she wanted, until he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back down onto his lap, until he was kissing her back with all the intensity she knew he possessed. His hands cupped her ass, and with a delighted moan, Keshaara rocked her hips into his. Loki growled something incomprehensible into her mouth, and then was lifting her up so he could throw her on his desk and lean over her.

 The chains on her head chimed softly as Loki pulled her down the desk so he could keep his hips pressed into hers. He grunted as their hips met and rolled against each others. Loki panted into her ear, whispering her name over and over and over, growling when Keshaara pulled his hair again, and whimpering when she whispered “ _mine_ , **my** King,” into his ears, her voice dripping with the promise of very rough desktop sex.

 He pulled away from her for just a moment, to catch his breath, to look at Keshaara splayed out on his desk, over the top of his paper, her hair in a wreath around her head, flushed and panting but –

 “Kesh, look at me.”

 She did so immediately, her pupils blown wide, but her irises were…

 Loki leaned back down to press his forehead to hers, and tried his very hardest not to let panic overtake him. Beneath him, Keshaara whined at the lack of sexual contact, arching her back until her chest was pressed up against his own, and the delicate silks of her gown were rubbing against his bared flesh. She reached for him, arching her neck to press a kiss to his chin, and Loki reached for her hands, pinning them gently to the desk.

 “Kesh, I need you to stop.”

 She growled at him, the sound low and dangerous in her throat. He shivered at the sound, and chanced another look at her eyes. Blue was not a color for her. Her eyes that should burn orange and gold were a deep aquamarine, and he shuddered to think what it could mean. Well he knew exactly what it meant, but he did not want to think about it. How could she be infected, how could the tesseract already be active, how could it be affecting her like this...it was not reaching for him, but for her. He had not felt its pull since he had come back from Skyrim, not felt the insidious urges and desires and the incessant promises from the Tesseract and the Others like he had back on Midgard. But Keshaara, merely by virtue f her proximity to it, had succumbed. Again, he rested his forehead on her own, his eyes closed against the sight of something so wrong beneath him.

 “Kesh, please, come back.”

 “I…didn’t go anywhere, Loki. What’s wrong?”

 Keshaara licked his nose and snickered.

 “I mean, I know I was kissing you rather well but I did not think I had gone so far so as to utterly keep you from knowing where I am, good sir Loki.”

 There was laughter in her voice, and when Loki dared a glance at her, her eyes were bright and orange once again. Relief flushed him, and he kissed the rest of her words out of her mouth. He could feel her smiling moments before she returned the affection, cradling his head gently with both her hands (she had squirmed out of his grasp almost immediately) and kissed him slowly. He had to keep himself from collapsing into the kiss. The ferocity, the burning, all of that faded away and Keshaara kissed him sweetly.

 The kiss was so different, so slow and sensual, that Loki had a hard time with it all. When he pulled away from her, her hands slid down his jaw, and she looked up at him with a smile, her lips plumped with blood and a blush dusting her nose and cheeks. She looked at him, her eyes wide, pupils dilated, lips parted, and looking at _him_. Loki felt an answering smile on his own lips. She leaned up to press another gentle kiss to the side of his mouth.

 “I think I should go, Loki. I have to do battle in the morning, and I think I do need to sleep tonight.”

 She gently edged herself off his desk, fixing her dress as best she could. He nodded in agreement, looking almost crestfallen.

 “But you know,” Keshaara purred, stepping close to Loki and pressing herself back into him. “After battles, one of the greatest thrills is falling into bed with someone you know can perform as admirably in bed as you just did in the field. I will very much look forward to seeing you after I finish with Sif tomorrow, Loki.”

 Keshaara set her nails into the skin over his ribs and dragged them down, delighting in the stuttering groan that that elicited. Welts raised up on his skin almost immediately, and when Keshaara took note of the number of deep bruises across his neck and shoulders, along with the multiple welts and the bloodied wound across his face, first with pleased amusement, and then with slightly bashful remorse.

 “Oh, well that won’t do. Here, let me just-”

 Her hand came up, touched with golden light, and reached for his face. Loki grabbed her hand before it could touch him and gently pushed it away.

 “No, I…like…them. Leave them.”

 “Others will notice, Loki.”

 “Let them.”

 Keshaara blinked, and her blush deepened for a moment. She swallowed the knot in her throat and the urge to paint his pale, perfect, skin with a mottling of bruises so that everyone knew what she had done to him. But she drew her hand away instead, and stepped back.

 “Sleep well, then, Loki. I shall see you tomorrow.”

 He nodded stiffly, and gallantly walked her to the door. Keshaara allowed him to guide her to the door to his room, and allowed him to press a chaste kiss to her cheek. Before she left the room entirely though, she grabbed his hand and lifted it to her lips. Like she had before, when Loki was sent away from Skyrim, she pressed her lips to the space in between his knuckles. Loki sucked in air through his teeth, but before he could react any more than that, she was gone, her dress gracing the air with flutters of silk.

 Loki watched her leave for longer than he would care to admit. When he finally closed the door, he vowed to himself that he would find out why the Tesseract had infected Keshaara with its madness.

 

* * *

 

 

She was awake far earlier than she needed to be. Keshaara greeted the dawn, disrobed and stern. Her sleep had been light, but restful, after Dόmhildr had helped her out of her clothing and jewelry. Dόmhildr came in two hours after Keshaara had awoken, and after establishing that Keshaara required no assistance when it would come time to dress herself for battle, the two went to prepare breakfast. They ate over a conversation about Sif, with Keshaara asking Dόmhildr question after question about the temperament of the woman she would be facing.

Dόmhildr gave as good of answers as she could. She had never been particularly close to Sif, so she could not offer much, but Keshaara listened attentively, regardless.

“Kesh, the battle will be within two hours. Do you need to prepare?”

 “It will take me but a few moments. Magerobes are not at all hard to get on. If this is a mage-battle, I would go dressed appropriately.”

 “You are going to wear…robes. In a battle against Sif?”

 “I, um, yes? It is a mage-battle. It would be insulting to wear armor if I am not battling her with a weapon.”

 “She will be insulted. Robes are not battle-clothing.”

 Keshaara sighed mightily.

 “Then I will _explain_ it. By the Nine, is this how you all act?”

 Dόmhildr laughed, and agreed.

 “As you wish then. Will you be taking anything other than your robes into the battlefield?”

 “I would prefer not to. This is but the first of many challenges, and while I think I will rather dissuade people from challenging me in magic again, I would not like it if they knew too much of what I am capable of too quickly.”

 “A wise move, Kesh.”

 Keshaara smiled at the housecarl she had been given. From then on, breakfast was completed, and Keshaara went to prepare herself for battle. Her robe fit her as wonderfully as it ever did, embroidered and humming with the enchantments Keshaara herself had put in place the first time she had ever worn them, all those years before. A circlet adorned her brow, and she had been careful to pull her hair back in a simple braid, to keep it out of her eyes as she fought.

 She selected three rings to wear, not minding Dόmhildr’s odd look as she slid an amulet over her head as well. They were both in her bedroom as Keshaara rifled through her pack, humming under her breath.

 “You wear more jewelry to battle than you did to the feast.”

 “Ah, but the difference is that these are all enchanted, and those trinkets were not. For instance, this ring lets me do this,” Keshaara said, reaching back to the ornate bed and hefting it with one hand. “Which I would otherwise be incapable of doing. Generally, I’d wear it if I was in my heaviest of armors, so that I could still move with agility, but I figure being capable of throwing someone across an arena is a good enough excuse to have it as well.”

 Dόmhildr grinned.

 “That is very interesting, Kesh. Are such enchantments common in Skyrim?”

 “Passing so. Not many people are as good as it as I am. Was? Regardless. Enchanting is as much part of being Archmage as is being able to reduce a building to rubble in moments is.”

 The laugh Dόmhildr gave at that was a nervous one, and Keshaara resisted the urge to shoot the poor woman a wolfish grin. There was no need to frighten the poor woman. Enough people would be shaking in their fine boots by the time she was done utterly destroying her challenger. So Keshaara merely nodded at the woman, and gestured towards the door.

 “We should head out. I am curious about this place where I will be fighting.”

 “Yes, yes. This way. We’re actually going to the tournament grounds, since that is the only place deemed appropriate. Odin and Frigga will be in attendance, as will just about every other noble house of Asgard. Some Vanir have arrived as well, undoubtedly to test you and name a Champion as well. Many people will be watching to see if there is any chance or any reason for them to challenge you. So…perhaps be impressive.”

 “Well I certainly plan on doing that, do not worry.”

 She and Dόmhildr walked side by side through the palace, drawing eyes and attention as they walked. Keshaara’s magerobes glittered and gleamed with magic that hummed in the very stitches of the heavy embroidery up her arms and down her chest. She was not so gaudy as to have gems stitched into the heavy blue-black fabric, but the threads of the embroidery were coated in gold and silver, and dyed with the richest of colors so that when she moved, the light sparkled off of her. Her jewelry, chosen specifically for its enchantments, as always, seemed a damned sight finer than it had been when she was wearing her borrowed gems.

 Keshaara no longer looked Aesir, she did not bear any resemblance to the people of Asgard aside from the height and maybe the basal bone structure. She carried herself utterly differently, and her clothing was foreign. It did not look war-like, it did not appear threatening, and she had no weapon at her hip, but there was an air of threat about her. She walked with confidence, she walked at a brisk pace – not so fast that Dόmhildr could not keep up, but quick enough that it was apparent that Keshaara was going somewhere, and no, anyone else was not invited to walk along with her.

 She continued on her way, letting Dόmhildr guide her as needed. The outdoors greeted them with a bright sunlight and the sounds of a far-off rouwdy group of people. It was early for this sort of thing, but that did not seem to be a limiting factor to anyone involved. Dόmhildr led her to the door that would lead her to the tournament grounds proper, and almost worriedly began re-adjusting Keshaara’s robes again.

 “Dόmhildr, Dόmhildr it is just fine. Let it be.”

 Keshaara pushed her housecarl’s hands away from her. She had a need now, to do something truly spectacular. She was going to fight and win as Champion of Loki. Keshaara offered Dόmhildr a clasp on the shoulder, and a wan smile.

 “I will be back shortly, and perhaps then you can show me to the baths.”

 Keshaara winked, and entered the door Dόmhildr had shown her.

 

* * *

 

She was guided from the door, amidst stares and mutters of confusion, to the tournament grounds proper. A gate opened in front of her, and without much fanfare, Keshaara stepped out onto the sand-dusted grounds. Sif was already standing opposite her in the oval arena, garbed in her usual armor, and not seeming to be any more garbed in magic than she had the night before. Unusual.

Behind Sif, the woman who had called the challenge at the feast, flanked on either side by the people Keshaara assumed to be the rest of the mages gathered to defend Sif from the big bad Archmage. Good. She looked higher, and saw Odin and Frigga seated in opulence above them all. Keshaara did not offer them anything more than an acknowledgement. There was no bowing, nothing. She looked over her shoulder, and was pleased to see Loki, sitting all on his own, but sitting regardless.

 Keshaara had to halt the involuntary lick of her lips. He was seated in a fine chair, nearly a throne, really, with his legs spread wide, and his posture speaking of nothing but confidence. There was a not-to-secret thrill that blossomed inside of her when she saw him like that. That was a being to Champion, that was someone of power and terror who deserved a Champion. The Daedra themselves would quail before this Prince. Her smile was not at all forced when she looked at him.

 His eyes dipped down to catch hers, and he smirked. Keshaara made a show of bowing deeply, but rolled her eyes at his self-satisfied grin.

 “Lady Sif, warrior fair, I feel it pertinent for you to know why I chose to wear this before we begin.”

 Keshaara began speaking as she was still looking at Loki, but turned artfully towards Sif as she spoke. The other woman already had her blade bare and did not seem as if she wanted to really do much talking, but Sif also did not move to attack. Keshaara took that as a tentative agreement not to attempt to skewer her until after she was done talking.

 “I understand that it does not appear to be armor. This, however, is the set of mage robes I have given upon being declared Archmage by the College. It is laden with enchantments that no single being could ever hope to place on their own. Even the jewelry I wear is touched by magic. This has only ever been worn once in the history of Skyrim – of all of Nirn. I was challenged. My opponent sought my title. He was sent to his family in a tinderbox, and I have not worn these robes since. There was never any need, for no one ever challenged my right to be called Archmage. Until today.”

 Keshaara looked to the mages behind Sif.

 “So I certainly hope you are prepared. You face the Archmage of Skyrim. Ready your weapon. The first strike is yours.”

 Sif shifted almost uncertainly, but stepped closer, readying her sword.

 “Or would you rather I have it? As you wish, my _Lady_.”

 Keshaara lifted a hand and flicked her fingers towards Sif. Fire raced after the movement, growing in size and ferocity as it rushed towards her. Sif dove out of the way, yelling and throwing her sword-tip towards Keshaara. A bolt of magic rushed from the sword, directed at Keshaara.

 Keshaara merely lifted a hand, and a ward spell deflected the magic wide. Sif rushed her, trying to break through the ward with her swordtip, but Keshaara was the Archmage for a reason. The ward spell held strong, stopping Sif in her tracks. Magic exploded from Sif’s enchanted sword, seeking a weakness in the ward. There was none. From behind her ward-spell, Keshaara was utterly untouchable. Sif whaled on the spell with her blade, convinced it would give way if she struck it enough.

 “Kesh. No ward-spells. That is not fair to anyone.”

 Loki’s voice slid through the sound of battle, and Keshaara sent him a withering glare over her shoulder.

 “As you say, my prince.”

 The ward-spell vanished, and Sif ran in headlong, blade at the ready to slice Keshaara from neck to navel. Keshaara allowed the other woman the courtesy of drawing in close, but when Sif’s blade came in too close, there was a snapping hiss. A purple, translucent sword met Sif’s own solid silver one, and Keshaara intentionally stepped in close to the woman warrior.

 “You should hope that they ensorcelled that blade with more than just a rudimentary energy blast, my Lady Sif, or you are about to die.”

 Keshaara held her blade with a single hand, and in the other, the familiar crackle of lightning sprang into existence. Sif looked down, bringing her shield to bear to deflect the bolt of lightning. She was practiced in that much, at least. The bolt of magicked lightning burst from Keshaara’s fist with enough force to knock Sif back, and then the lightning changed to fire and destruction drove Sif away from her.

 The magicked sword vanished from her grip, and before Sif could come back in close to her, Keshaara moved to her conjuration spells. Gathering her power in both hands, she condensed it before throwing it outward in front of her. The familiar portal opened as she pulled her thralls to her.

 The first was storm, the second, ice, and the last, fire. Atronachs familiar to her were clearly wholly unseen in this realm. Gasps and screams rippled through the crowd and Sif halted in her steps. For a few tense moments, the atronachs were still, awaiting a command only Keshaara could give.

 “<Destroy her.>”

 The familiar came alit upon her tongue, and the atronachs swarmed. Storm and Fire threw magic, and Ice drew close to beat Sif into a pulp. Keshaara did nothing more than just stalk from side to side as she observed her atronachs and their destruction. Sif held her own better than most warriors of Skyrim could ever hope to, catching strikes on her shield and taking hits that would have otherwise destroyed another Nord. This was all well and good, and it made for an excellent, show, Keshaara supposed. But she had no need to continue throwing her own magic in the fray when she had constructs to do her job for her. As flashy as she could be, as outrageous as her power was, she was not going to just put everything on display.

 The Ice atronach fell first, surprisingly enough. Keshaara watched the great beast groan and fall, dissolving into mist and magic. That still left both Storm and Fire, and Storm was both melee and ranged, which seemed to cause Sif some issues. Magic was clearly not used offensively here – not to the level it was used in Skyrim, at least.

 Fire and lightning struck the lady, and she stood tall against it, if a bit haggard. Her sword was not overly effective against the only slightly physical Storm atronach, and the Fire atronach knew better than to get close enough to allow for a sword strike on her more sensitive body.

 Keshaara watched, waiting for when her atronachs would fail, prepared to summon others as needed. The magic of the mages who had challenged her had not made much of an appearance, other than the occasional energy bolt from the sword that always seemed to miss the target.

 The fight carried on much like this for a while, with Keshaara content to watch from a distance. That was, of course, until her skin prickled with the sense of wrongness. Movement drew her gaze upwards, towards where the assembled mages stood. She saw one make a gesture with her hands, heard the magic rise in the words, and Sif’s sword was ripped out of her hands, flying up into the air.

 Keshaara dismissed her atronachs, not wanting to fight an unarmed opponent, but the sword did not return to Sif’s hands. No, it rose all the higher in the air, above the walls of the arena, the tip honed in on –

 “ _Loki_.”

 The sword shot forward, faster than an arrow, guided and forced by magic.

 It was moments like this, when any other person would be frozen in place, like everyone else in the arena, that Keshaara was thankful for her multiple titles. Assassins and thieves were never allowed the luxury of inaction in the face of danger. She spun on her heel, pulled her magic around her, and not forgetting Loki’s command as her Champion-ee, did not throw a ward-spell. Instead, she threw her body into the air, using a combination of most all of her magics simultaneously, coupled with her own innate skills, she scaled the arena wall and…

 Loki did not so much as flinch as the sword came towards him. It was not going hit him. It could not. His denial was not born of knowledge and comfort that Keshaara would protect him, but rather that no one would allow such a terrible thing to happen. This was entirely improper, entirely wrong, and one of the guards would step up and defend him.

 What he got instead, however, was a faceful of Keshaara. Between one blink and the next, she had reached him, almost simultaneously with the sword. The bloodied swordtip was mere inches from Loki’s nose, and Keshaara was panting heavily above him. One of her hands was planted on the back of his chair, her face was all but buried in the crook of his neck, and her left hand was wrapped around the sword’s blade. She trembled, hissing as the pain of having a sword blade nearly sever her fingers and cut her hand to ribbons.

 Her blood dripped into Loki’s lap, large, fat, dollops of it, staining the clothing. He could feel the blood seep into the fabric, and eventually, alight upon his skin. She panted into his skin, but slowly pulled away from him. Keshaara dropped Sif’s sword, throwing it away from her.

 “Kesh…”

 “You are not injured, Loki?” she grit out, touching her mangled hand to the side of his face.

 Loki grimaced when he saw what the sword had done to her left hand. Bone was clearly visible through the severed flesh, with muscles and tendons hanging limply from bone. The wound seeped blood, but Keshaara made no move to heal herself.

 “No, but Kesh, your **hand**.”

 She waved his concern away with a hand that could neither form a fist nor move accurately. She could do nothing with her hand, and moving her wrist caused her nothing but agony. Keshaara did not heal herself, even as she looked to the sword and stepped away from Loki. The crowd tittered, shocked and appalled at the actions of the mages.

 Keshaara did not talk for a long few moments. Blood still dripped from her mangled hand, and she stared coolly down at Sif, as if she was contemplating what should be done.

 “I am correct in thinking that what just occurred was a massive breach of honorable conduct, yes, Loki?”

 “Yes, but Kesh-”

 “And the breach of honor falls to their Champions shoulders. Not their own. I cannot kill the one who attempted to kill you.”

 “Kesh, heal your hand.”

 No golden light touched her skin, and she gave no indication that she heard Loki’s command. If she had heard it, she ignored it completely. Instead, her magic gathered around her, tightening across her body like a noose. She stepped towards the arena, her power warping the very air around her.

 “Keshaara.”

 Her foot touched the edge of the arena, and she looked down upon Sif. Her atronachs had the woman penned into the corner, but they no longer attacked her. Keshaara dismissed the constructs, leaving Sif standing, embattled and bruised, far from her. With her uninjured hand, she stooped to pick up the sword, and then tossed it to Sif.

 “Defend yourself, Lady Sif. You are now just as guilty of attempting to murder Loki in my presence as the mages behind you.”

 Sif hefted her sword, and Keshaara dropped back down into the arena.

 “ _KESHAARA_.”

 Loki’s voice did not reach her. The only thing Keshaara could hear was her fury beating out a warsong in her blood. These mages had done something unconscionable, and Sif was their Champion. So Sif would pay.

 The display of magical might that followed defied all explanations. Even Heimdall, seer of all things, had to avert his gaze from the power that Keshaara brought to bear. The very foundations of the tournament grounds shook, stone cracked, and the crowd could not bring themselves to watch.

 Keshaara was a fury unmatched. Three times, she disarmed Sif, pulling her sword from her hand and throwing it far away. Three times, she waited until Sif retrieved her blade and readied herself again before striking anew. Keshaara, unarmed and unarmored, without the use of a warding spell proceeded to shove Sif around the arena, not stopping for a moment, her face a mask of rage. Every time Sif fell to her knees, Keshaara picked her back up by the collar of her armor to set her back on her feet. Her strikes, even with naked fists, left Sif reeling, and whenever Keshaara saw the opportunity, she would rip a piece of Sif’s armor off of her body, flinging it out of the woman’s grasp.

 “I’m not done with you yet, keep fighting,” she snarled each time Sif stopped, panting and desperate to catch her breath.

 Keshaara’s left hand was a bloodied mess, but that did not keep her from using it to throw magic at Sif. Lightning burnt the air, fire scorched the ground, ice made the area treacherous beneath Sif’s feet. Keshaara showed no signs of stopping, not even when her opponent was gasping for air burnt and bloodied. Sif’s fighting spirit had been bled from her. Every time Keshaara was in range, she would try and bring her sword to bear, but Keshaara would either be out of range before he thrust or swing could connect, or Keshaara would have bowled her over with some form of foreign magic or another.

 It was only when Sif’s hand could not clasp her sword’s hilt, when her shield fell from her arm, and when the ability to rise left her entirely that Keshaara stopped her onslaught. Fire faded from the air, lightning ceased to arc around them, and the ice melted into water, and evaporated into mist.

 Where moments before there had been a maelstrom of fire, lightning and ice, there was now silence. Sif was breathing heavily still, clutching at the flesh beneath her armor, traumatized and brutalized. Keshaara kicked her onto her back, placing one finely booted foot squarely in the center of Sif’s chest, and lifted Sif’s sword high. Keshaara allowed herself a final display of power, a sonic boom of energy that shook dust from the seats and sent more than a few people to the ground, writhing in pain.

 Wordlessly, and without great cavalcade, Keshaara looked to Loki, holding the sword high, tip pointed down at Sif’s bared throat. She did not move, waiting for a signal. Beneath her, Sif turned to look at Loki as well, her face pale. If the Champion was looking for confirmation, for the acceptance of a kill, and she was looking to _Loki_ , of all people, Sif was already dead.

 But Loki ticked his head ever so slightly to the right, and Keshaara stood down, lowering the sword before driving it into the earth beside Sif’s head.

 “You yield, Lady Sif.”

 Sif nodded once, and that was all Keshaara needed. Keshaara released her grip on the sword, leaving a bloodied handprint on its hilt. Golden light flickered around her hand and Sif watched as Keshaara knelt beside her, still afraid to move in case Keshaara decided to end her life.

 “I am not going to hurt you. You are no longer the mage’s champion. You have been defeated. Observe.”

 Keshaara held up her mauled left hand, and let the golden glow consume the mangled appendage. Sif watched in equal parts horror and fascination as Keshaara’s hand stitched itself back together, the wounds sealing closed, muscles and tendons reattaching, bones hiding behind skin and flesh again. Within moments, it was only blood that remained on Keshaara’s hand, and thin lines of pink where there had once been grievous wounds.

 “May I tend your wounds, Lady Sif?”

 “Y-yes.”

 The golden light hovered over Sif’s flesh, and within moments, Sif was whole and hale, the burns and wounds inflicted by Keshaara’s magic, the bruises from Keshaara’s fists and the battering she took, were gone, and Sif was healed.

 “Do you need assistance standing?”

 “No,” Sif said, sitting up on her own.

 Keshaara nodded, rose, and walked towards the gate that had let her into the arena. She waited patiently for the gate to open, and when it did, she calmly walked through. The first challenger had been defeated. And that was all.


	12. Dreyrugr

The Tale of the Dragonborn 

* * *

 

 

Dόmhildr met with her as she stepped out of the arena, her face drawn into a tight frown.

 “Keshaara…there has been a second challenge. Loki accepted.”

 Keshaara whipped her head around to look at the arena behind her, her brows pulled down.

 “I haven’t even been out of the arena that long, how did news travel faster than I managed to?”

 Dόmhildr frowned and turned away.

 “I do not know, but they’re already calling you back. It is another group of people who believe Loki has wronged them and demanded a trial by combat. You…need to be back there right now.”

 “There is no rest period?”

 “Loki…said you needed none. And would be prepared.”

 “I did not bring any of my other armor…or weaponry. Did Loki remember this?”

 Dόmhildr looked down at Keshaara’s toes.

 “No. I don’t think he did. And you are not allowed magic for this fight. Your opponent is Fandral, and he claims no magic, so you cannot either…Loki has allowed all contenders to challenge you. He has great faith in you.”

 Keshaara slumped, looking back to the arena.

 “Are you allowed, as my housecarl, to go back to the rooms and fetch my bag for me? I need it if I’m going to fight. These robes are ceremonial, and without my magic, I cannot really hope to stand against too many opponents.”

 Dόmhildr nodded, and turned away quickly, walking briskly away. Keshaara turned back to the arena, sighed, and trudged back through the tunnel. No one greeted her this time, either. She walked in silence, the weight of others’ gazes heavy upon her shoulders. Her mouth was screwed down into a frown, and a low growl rumbled in the back of her throat.

  _What was Loki **thinking**_ , she thought traitorously, her hands clenching around nothing. Rage bubbled beneath her skin, festering like an old wound (and was she ever familiar with old wounds).

 As before, she waited for the portcullis that separated her little tunnel from the arena proper to open, stepping out into the sandy place, her gaze centered firmly on Fandral, who stood easily on the opposite side of the oval, his thin sword drawn and resting easily in his hand.

 Keshaara looked up to the throne where Loki was sitting, his hips thrust forward and legs spread, if possible, wider than they had been before. He was looking down at her, his face impossible to read, but his green eyes burned with intensity. She could not help, and Divines did she try not to, but to look at the presented bulge in his crotch. She blinked away the desire that bloomed in her chest, and tried not to think to _hard_ (fuck) about why her tongue was wetting her lips or why she felt very hot all at once. There was a fight to go through and it did nothing for her to be aching for something else to set her blood aflame.

 “Apologies for my state of armor, Fandral. I was not allowed to change. I hope my state of armorlessness and lack of weapon do not offer you insult. Shall we?”

 Fandral inclined his head to her.

 “If you would prefer, my lady, we could postpone this match until you have had time to prepare-”

 “No. The fight is now. Carry on _now_.”

 Loki’s voice sent a chill down her spine, but she nodded.

 “As my Prince commands. Shall we, Fandral?”

 The man frowned, and directed a scathing glare to Loki, but nodded.

 Their battle was frightfully one-sided. Fandral was armed and armored, and Keshaara was neither. The most she could manage was to evade his attacks, and though Keshaara was skilled enough to avoid being struck even once, moving like smoke around Fandral, dodging and ducking and not once coming close to the blade’s dangerous edge, the fight was a stalemate. Fandral could not strike her, and she could not injure him. Without her magic, she could do nothing more than strike with her bare palms and legs. Her knees battered into his armor, but were nothing more than swatted away. She was at a disadvantage, no matter how long the fight dragged on.

 “My lady, it appears I misjudged your skill,” he panted as she ducked beneath his arm again, kicking one of his legs out from underneath him.

 Keshaara chuckled, and darted around Fandral’s back, placing a hand squarely in between his shoulderblades and shoving, knocking him off-balance. Fandral recovered quickly, spinning on his knee and slicing the air where she had been standing with enough force to gut her. There were no pulled punches in this fight. He was facing her with the full intent to maim, if not kill outright.

 “Many do. Would that there was a way to decide this without any bloodshed.”

 “You could surrender,” Fandral offered with a dazzling smile and wink as he closed in on her, his sword thrusting towards her midsection. Keshaara, ever watchful, did some quick mental gymnastics to figure her next move.

 She leaned in to his strike, twisting and bending her body so that…

 Divines, the pain was never sweet, but it had rarely been so bitter. There was a concerted gasp as she twisted away from Fandral, his sword buried in her ribs, blood flowing freely from the new wound. Fandral made a sound of victory, a pre-emptive crow of his prowess, a cheer started – and died on the reveler’s lips as Keshaara drew the blade out of her flesh, pressing a hand to the wound, covering it as best she could, but the hand on the hilt of her new sword was steady.

 “Or you could. I seem to have a weapon now. Shall we?”

 Fandral huffed a laugh, quirking his head off to the side and shrugging. Keshaara had never been one to practice her swordsmanship, and it showed. Her moves were not nearly as fluid as Fandral’s, nor were her strikes the same sort of unerringly accurate. She was unused to the sort of sword he used, on top of that. A foil was not the same as a shortsword…or a heavy sword. Fandral smiled indulgently at her, clearly waiting for her to make some sort of error so he could regain control of his sword.

 No such moment came. Keshaara was not a master swordsman, but she was not some whelpling completely unfamiliar with the action of swordplay. Fandral was light on his feet, but Keshaara was not wearing armor, and was faster.

 When her sword cut his cape from his shoulders, he chuckled. When she kicked the cape up into his face, and pulled it tight around him, the laughter died in his throat. When the tip of her sword sliced through the straps needed to keep his chestpiece from sagging, he growled, and when, in a final flare, she circled him, twisting and turning like a dancer as the sword darted across his armor until pieces were falling from him like leaves from a tree in fall.

 She ended, hand still pressed to a wound that was seeping red to her knee, with the tip of the bloodied sword pressed into the hollow of Fandral’s neck, his armor littering the ground at his feet.

 “Never give a sword to a blacksmith,” Keshaara quipped, quoting to the knowledge of none, an old adage from Skyrim.

 Fandral did not move after Keshaara, not even as she gently, and without breaking his skin, drew a line across his throat.

 “Surrender, Fandral.”

 He made a great show of sighing mightily before he uttered the only words she really needed to hear.

 “I secede. The victory is yours.”

 Keshaara grinned, and pulled the sword from his neck, before offering it to him, hilt-first. Fandral took it gracefully, careful not to offend Keshaara by pointing the tip back to her.

 “Nice sword. Get it sharpened, I hear I have a tough gut,” the Dovahkiin offered with a grin. Fandral twisted his mouth into a smirk, and inclined his head.

 As before, Keshaara turned back to the tunnel that led her out of the arena, wincing only once when she realized that without her magic, and without permission to use her magic, she was quite severely injured. Blood seeped from in between her fingers, painting the entirety of her hand red. Pain, dulled by adrenaline, still hovered in the back of her mind, and she was hopeful that Dόmhildr would be returning with her pack soon so she could heal herself without the aid of the magic denied to her. There could certainly not be another challenge so soon after this one.

 But a shout had gone up, and with a laugh that made her seethe, Loki accepted it.

 “Fight for me, my Champion,” he sneered down at her when she snapped her head towards him. Keshaara snarled, baring teeth that had taken a red hue as her wound grew ever more severe without treatment.

 “As you command, my _Prince_.”

 The word was a curse on her tongue.

 But she turned, and looked to her next opponent, prepared to fight.

 Hours later, when the sun was still high in the sky, Keshaara looked to Loki again, praying for a reprieve. Her wound festered and burned, and no amount of adrenaline could stay the pain. Her face was slick with sweat, and her robes – the beautiful robes of the archmage, were tattered and torn over wounds that she could do nothing about, even as her magic burned her from within.

 “Fight for me.”

 She snarled audibly this time, her temper flaring white-hot as Loki only grinned at her. Her hands clenched at her sides. There was no reason to hold a hand to the wound that still bled in her side. Without a chance to stop and rest, without a time to herself where she could disobey his order and at least work on sealing the inner wounds, she had no reason to even try and keep it from bleeding.

 “Loki-”

 “Fight for me, Keshaara.”

 “Loki _please_ , a moment for rest.”

 “ **Fight**.”

 Keshaara’s growl was low and full of warning, but she turned to her next opponent. The last few opponents after Fandral had not been warriors of any particular caliber, but it seemed as if more people were emboldened to send their champions to face her. The tidal wave of bodies that was thrown at her and defeated would eventually wear her down, and while she did nothing more than ask for surrender when she had the chance and the upper hand and their blade pressed to their neck.

 She never kept the weapons she took from them, never called her magic, and never faltered. But she was a bloodied mess, and a tired tremble had started in her shoulders and was working down her neck, her back, and hopefully she could be finished with this before her knees gave out. Hunger gnawed at her belly, and she wished desperately for this farce of a trial by combat to be over. Dómhildr was nowhere to be seen, though there had easily been enough time for her to walk back and forth between the room and the arena ten times over. Keshaara rather wished that she had her armor though. Or a weapon.

 Her current opponent was a young man, who had accused Loki of murdering his mother or something – Keshaara had stopped paying attention to the slights, real or imagined, that all of these challengers laid at Loki’s feet. She could not keep up with them, and by and large, it did not seem as if their complaints were serious. Not serious enough to level at a Prince of a realm, at least.

 Her vision swam for a moment, and she faltered, stumbling into the next strike, and took a slash up her torso, from hip to chin. Grunting, she threw a wild punch at their face, and was satisfied to hear the crunch of their nose shattering. She continued, not bothering to strip their sword from their hand, punching and kicking until the kid who had been thrown into the arena with her was sobbing through a broken jaw full of shattered teeth, clutching a crushed shoulder. His sword was forgotten, and Keshaara did not even bother picking it up. She kicked him onto his back and planted her foot on his chest.

 “Yield.”

 She took his hysterical sobbing as acquiescence and turned away, limping back towards Loki, pressing her hands into her flesh to try and stop the bleeding. Her vision wavered, and she weaved as she walked. The wall beneath Loki’s throne was her salvation. She pressed a bloodied handprint into the ancient stone and held herself steady as she waited for her body to recover. She just needed a few moments, and a meal and she could fight, but she had neither.

 Loki was already calling for the next combatant to come face her, and even as Keshaara leaned her head on the warmed stones and halfheartedly cursed his name beneath her breath.

 Panting would be a light term for what she was doing as she straightened up to take a look at her next opponent.

 “Oh _fuck me_. Loki **please** let this fight be over.”

 “Apologies, I stopped listening after the first sentence.”

 Keshaara grunted, but grinned. Her opponent was a huge man, larger than any other she had seen in Asgard, and nearly as large as a few of the Nords she had seen in her tenure as Dovahkiin of Skyrim. From his shoulders hung some huge pelt of some sort of creature. It was a little hard to see with blood running into her eyes and her world vibrating like a plucked string. Her opponent had no weapon, which was good to see. Keshaara was rather unfond of having no weapon when her opponents were armed.

 “So now we face the coward’s champion?”

 The first words out of her opponent caught her like a punch to the gut. Keshaara’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and a low rumble started in her chest. Behind her, Loki’s grip tightened on the arm rest of his throne and his breath caught. He had learned the folly of cowardice in Skyrim, and he had a thrilling sensation of anticipation creeping up his spine now that the accursed word had been uttered in her presence once again.

 Keshaara rolled her shoulder and waited, not advancing more than two paces from the wall she had left her blood smeared across.

 “A coward for a coward. Fitting. We will have fun ripping your pretty little head from those pretty little shoulders. You should not have fought us, because little pretty girls are never prepared for monsters.”

 Her opponent’s preference for third-person speaking was grating, to say the least. Keshaara bared her teeth in a grin. Her blood, what little remained in her body, thrummed in her veins, and she felt a deep dark beastliness stirring. She said nothing, however, not trusting her voice to remain firm.

 The man’s skin boiled, and split, revealing the beast within him. A bear, it looked like. The crowd screamed in terror, some running from the arena in fear. Keshaara regarded the huge quadruped with nothing more than a quirked eyebrow. The bear roared, clearly incapable of advanced speech in this form. It did not attack right away, and Keshaara rather thought it was awaiting its prey to make the first, fatal move.

 “First – _never_ call me coward,” Keshaara said slowly, rolling her tongue around her mouth to taste out the blood that hid in the crevasses of her teeth.

 “Second,” she grit out, allowing her beast blood to rise like a storm in her chest.

 “I…”

 Her teeth multiplied exponentially in her too-small mouth.

 “… _am_ …”

 Her body shifted, twisting and warping horrifically.

 “…a motherfucking **monster**.”

 The last word was the growl of a werewolf, and Keshaara stood tall, a battered and blooded were of Skyrim, one of Hircine’s own. The screams sounded sweeter in this state, and her nose flared with the scent of her own blood. There was a bear in front of her, a were not of Hircine’s making, and even so far removed from Skyrim, the thought of such a monstrosity existing made her furious. The two skinchangers regarded each other for a moment. One _berserkir_ , the other were.

 The moment passed.

 Keshaara rushed in, faster than she was on her own, still standing on two legs, and with full use of very human-like hands. It was not hard for her beat the other in a contest of strength. Her muscles corded under shoulders powerful enough to hold up the entirety of Nirn, and she batted the bear’s huge clawed paws away from her. She lifted the other into the air, throwing them across the arena, and walking cooly back over to them, not minding the screams, and the terror that painted the air all sorts of delicious shades of green and yellow.

 She waited for the bear to right itself, waited for it to shake the daze of being thrown when in such a large form from its mind, before striking again. Keshaara was a consummate warrior, never once faltering, even in this more unusual form of hers. The snarling, the growling, the snapping and hissing, all of it filled the air as two beasts circled each other. Keshaara’s blood painted the sands, tracing every movement she made. In this larger form, she bled all the more profusely as closed wounds reopened. It did not seem to bother her.

 The bear charged her, and instead of dodging, she ducked down low, rising up on her powerful hindlegs only when the bear was close enough to grab. The impact rattled her bones, but she dug her feet in and rose up all the taller, pushing the bear up onto its own hindlegs. Its teeth snapped near her face, catching her ear and tearing a huge chunk from it. Keshaara howled, and without much thought, she grabbed the bear by the jaws, prying their mouth open as wide as she could, not caring that its teeth was cutting into her skin. She was beyond caring. She was hungry and wild and monstrous.

 Her strength was more than she could control, and with a sickening series of cracks, whines, snaps and groans, she pulled the bear’s lower jaw off, throwing it far from her with a snarl of her own. The bear melted away, leaving her standing over a man, clutching at a ravaged face, making distressed noises with what remained of his tongue and throat.

 Keshaara withdrew into her skin, layering humanity back over the monster that howled under her flesh. She stood, bloody and beaten, her ear a mangled mess, and her wounds bleeding afresh. Her skin was pale, nearly bloodless.

 “Yield,” she growled, her voice still maintaining the gravel of a wolf’s form.

 Somehow the creature before her managed to spit, hitting her shoe with its bloodied saliva. There was a deep, deep sensation of rage that built within her, and even as she hear Loki’s cry of warning, her magic roared in her ears. Blood splashed over her in a fine mist. Her opponent was no more, destroyed in a moment by the Archmage of Winterhold’s fury.

 The crowd was silent as Keshaara let her magic wash over her. If Loki was going to take issue with this, he could step down into the arena with her. She was done and over with all of this. She would take no more of this insult. Keshaara swiped the blood out of her eyes and looked to Loki, who was leaning forward in his chair, brows furrowed and clearly perturbed at what just happened.

 “Am I done for the day, _now,_ Krojunsekrah? Or shall I stand and do battle even further? Anyone else who steps into this arena is going to die. I am done with mercy when it is clear that mercy is weakness here. May I rest now, or shall I continue this fucking travesty of a trial by battle? I will not be fettered by some damned-”

 “That is enough from you, Keshaara. You are done for the day, as you say. Go from here.”

 Loki’s words did not soothe her anger, but she inclined her head as politely as she could manage before walking back to her tunnel, doing her best not to stumble. She could not bring herself to focus enough to heal herself, not yet. She needed to sleep and bathe or bathe then sleep or whatever in whatever order, but she, most of all, needed to not be where she was right then.

 On the other side of the tunnel stood a exhausted Dόmhildr, who was clutching a pack in her arms, and flushed.

 “I-I-I’m sorry, Keshaara. I…It’s _heavy_ ,” the maiden gasped as Keshaara closed in on her. Dόmhildr’s eyes grew wide as Keshaara came closer and closer and closer.

 Keshaara reached out to grab Dόmhildr by the back of the neck and pull her close, stooping down to press her forehead to the servant woman’s own. She picked up the pack out of Dόmhildr's arm’s, placing it at her waist, but not changing out of her mangled robes.

 “Thank you for trying, Dόmhildr. I had forgotten. Please, the baths?”

 Dόmhildr nodded, and extricated herself from Keshaara’s grasp.

 “This way, my Lady.”


	13. Iðrask

The Tale of the Dragonborn

The Tale of the Jotun Prince

* * *

 

 

Dόmhildr was careful to pick a path through the palace that seemed to avoid the maximum number of people possible. Keshaara was thankful for that. She did not really want to deal with anyone else. There were stunned gasps and hushed whispers that followed their movements, and while Dόmhildr seemed to take such things in strode, not pausing or showing any sign of being bothered by her close association with Keshaara. Keshaara just plain out did not care. She trudged along after Dόmhildr, focusing on nothing more than putting one foot in front of the other until Dόmhildr was pushing open a door and the beloved, much-missed sensation of hot, muggy air hit her.

 Keshaara sighed audibly, sagging as the familiarity cradled her in the embrace of heat and warmth. The room was huge, and open, dotted with small and large baths, some already full, others empty, but all in the same communal space. At the farthest end of the huge room was a massive, steaming pool, and Keshaara ached to be in the crystalline blue water there. There was little to no privacy, however, and while usually that would not bother Keshaara, in the moment it did.

 “Dόmhildr, is there a place where I can bathe in private? I am not currently comfortable with…being so open so soon after a battle. I crave the quiet of solitude, even for a moment.”

 “Of course, just this way, if you please, my lady fair. I will show you to the appropriate room, and leave you to your bathing? We can talk later, and I will begin alterations on your gown for tonight. I take it you need no healers?”

 “Please. I do not wish to be rude, but I do wish to be alone. And no, I need no healers. After I relax a moment, I will tend to my own wounds.”

 Dόmhildr nodded amicably, smiling graciously at Keshaara. Carefully, the servant-girl picked through the baths, which were sparsely populated. Not wishing to be rude, Keshaara averted her eyes, but she could hear Fandral’s voice, covered over by the voices of crooning women, along with a few other voices that seemed as if they should be familiar to her as well. But she did not care to look around and see if anyone she ‘knew’ was around. She rather did not feel like talking to them, and she rather thought they would not feel like talking to her. So she kept her head down and dragged her bloodied body to the room Dόmhildr indicated.

 The door was just as ornate as every other door in the palace, heavy and gilded with gold and bronze, and intricately carved, but it opened to a relatively plain room with a lone, large bath. The room was…interesting. Keshaara was rather used to all hotsprings being carved directly out of the earth, but this was a room that had mosaic tiles gracing the floor with artful whorls and circles, walls painted plainly, but bearing more mosaics in strategic places, to give the sense of opulence unending. Candles lit the room’s corners, but that was hardly necessary. There was a huge window that looked out over Asgard, and the sunset filtered in through the lightly tinted glass. Keshaara stood, stunned, for a moment, in the doorway.

 “Dόmhildr? This is…extravagant.”

 “Hardly,” the servant said with a poorly-disguised snort. “This is the least of the baths, and no one should bother you while you are in here. You can lock the door behind me, and you should be left alone by all except the palace guards, who have the key for securing reasons. I shall indicate that the room is occupied and no one will bother you. The soaps and oils are over there, the fragrant incenses there, and the towels for when you are done are just there. Shall I bring your gown here when I am done, or will you return to the room before the feast?”

 Keshaara moved out of Dόmhildr’s way as the servant bustled about the room, preparing things for her Lady. Even in Solitude, in the Palace of Kings, no room had been so beautiful.

 “I…um, I will return to the room when I am ready. I should be able to find my way back.”

 Dόmhildr smiled and bowed, excusing herself from the room. Keshaara locked the door as Dόmhildr had told her to do, and after a moment spent with her ear pressed to the door to make sure no one was lingering outside and she was truly alone, Keshaara stripped out of her utterly destroyed robes. It was easier to just pull the fabric apart, ripping the robes that had been given to her – the robes that had meant so much to her – off of her body. The fabric, tested and frayed, littered the ground around her. Blood soaked the cloth, staining what could have otherwise been salvaged.

 Keshaara, alone and so happy to be alone, let her broken sigh spill from her lips. She was losing everything in Asgard. She had already lost Loki, and her armor and her favored weapon. She had lost her sky and her stars, and she was starting to think she was losing herself.

 Slowly, she let her second skin fall away from her. Her flesh glimmered, and the closest-guarded secret she had held the entirety of her time in Asgard…in Jotunheim…and for most of her life in Skyrim. Old scars, scars that she had never wanted anyone but her husband to see glittered into existence. She lost all sight in her left eye, but that was normal without her magic constantly feeding energy to destroyed nerves, forcing an old wound whole. Three of her fingers shortened, two by one joint, and the last nearly down to the second joint. Huge scars, raised and ropey, crossed her back, her legs, her torso, down the side of her face. Blood still coated her, over where new scars would soon be, she was sure.

 Limping heavily, Keshaara walked to the bath, relieved when it was scalding hot and numbed her body with the heady warmth. She practically collapsed into the warmth, an obscene moan slipped out of her mouth. Despite her normal urge to do anything but present her back to a door, she wanted to see the sky outside of the room, she wanted to watch the sun set on Asgard, and let the water seep into her wounds.

 

* * *

 

Loki caught Dόmhildr on her way out of the bathing rooms, placing a hand on her elbow as she walked past him. The servant girl nearly jumped out of her skin. He felt her trembling as she looked up at him.

“Where is Keshaara?”

"She is bathing, currently. _Alone,_ ” Dόmhildr said, her voice steel even if her flesh shook.

 “That is well and fine, I just wished to know where my Champion was,” Loki purred, rubbing his thumb down Dόmhildr’s arm.

 She wrenched her arm out of his grasp and jutted her chin up at him, her nostrils flaring. Even if her rage was impotent against him, and she could not say anything against a once-Prince of Asgard, let along strike him, she made her fury known with a clench of her jaw and a narrowing of her eyes. Loki smiled and withdrew, spreading his hands wide.

 “Apologies if I offered offence, fair maiden.”

 “You offered none to me, but I would be wary of offering any to Keshaara.”

 Loki huffed a laugh, and turned away. Dόmhildr watched him leave, ensuring his path did not err towards the bath-house rooms before turning back to her own path. She did not like Loki, not one bit.

 And he quite honestly did not care. He let his magic wrap around him as soon as there was no one looking at him, seeking Keshaara now that he knew approximately where she was. He wanted to surprise her, to see if that would elicit some sort of pleasurable reaction. She had, after all, teased him with what she would to do him after she thrashed Sif…and had Keshaara ever thrashed Sif. And Fandral. And every other person who had faced her, who he had made her face. She had been glorious and deadly. She had been everything he had wanted and it had been the singularly hardest thing he had ever done to keep from palming his cock as he had watched her fight.

 “ _Kesh,_ ” he growled, materializing in the private room she had been given by Dόmhildr, wreathed in green and gold as his body took shape again.

 The woman whose back was to him though, her arms spread out on the lip of the deep bath, braided hair resting on the tiled floor, and gaze centered on the window presented before her, seized as his voice reached her. His gaze was drawn to the shortened fingers, and for a moment, he swore to himself, fearing he had miscalculated, somehow brought himself to the wrong room and that he was going to have to find a way to silence someone who perhaps could know something he could not have known…but then she turned her head towards him, presenting him with a profile of the right side of her face, and he sighed.

 It was her, in all her glory.

 She kept turning, and his gut clenched.

 Down the side of Keshaara’s face, marring what he had only ever seen as the flawless complexion of the Champion of Skyrim, was a long scar. Her left eye was milky, torn open and unseeing. Scars traced her torso, dappling her skin with past horrors, and the furrow in her brow made shame flush through him. He was not meant to be here. She had not meant for him to see this, and the thin line of her mouth made him reconsider everything he had been plotting all day.

 “Loki.”

 She stood, twisting her torso, presenting the entirety of her naked body to him. He could see the scars he had watched her receive in that horrid cave of vampires and horror, he could see every last thing he had not known. Blood still leaked from the wounds she had received in her battles that day, her magic working slowly on healing the wounds. She had not begun to scrub the dried blood from her skin, or clean herself at all.

 “Kesh, I did not-”

 “Come here.”

 Her voice was calm, but he could see the tremor in her hands. She took a step backwards, and for a moment, the sun silhouetted her and she was wreathed in golden light. He walked forward, unthinkingly following her command. He stepped down into the baths, not caring that his clothing was heavy and cumbersome in the water. The water was hot – so damned hot against his skin, but when Keshaara reached up for him, her skin was so much hotter than that. It felt like she was burning him from the inside out as she pressed her bared body against his too-heavy, too-much, too-there clothing, but did not kiss him.

 “Kesh I-”

 “Loki. This was not meant for you to see. This was for me. These scars are for me. I could not die, nothing in Skyrim could kill me. I needed something to change, something to mark the passage of my years unending. These scars were for _me_ , and **never** you.”

 His breath stuck in his throat and he swallowed it back down. He stammered something, a start to a sentence, an unusual apology, but all the words turned to ash in his mouth and he only managed a slight nod. He watched as her magic flickered back over her, and for a moment he was looking at the Keshaara he knew, her body whole and hale. She pressed her fingers to his lips, and he could not differentiate between the fingertips she had summoned and constructed from magic, and her real ones.

 All of them burned him the same.

 “I wanted to watch the sun set on this new sky. I wanted to watch the stars blossom and learn the constellations of this new place. I wanted to try and make this place make sense to me. And I had wanted to be alone.”

 She pushed him down into the place she had been sitting moments before, pulling his sopping wet clothes off of him slowly. He assisted as much as he could, unfastening, undoing and unknotting whatever her fingers did not touch. His leather and cloth clothing was taken from him, every layer stripped away. As his clothing came away, her magic unpeeled from her skin. As he was bared to her, she bared herself to him, and Loki groaned. She was so _hot_ , and he could not _stand_ it.

 “Kesh.”

 “Show me the stars of your world, Loki. Teach them to me. Sketch the constellations on my skin.”

 He threw his head back and groaned, his hands coming up to reach for her hips. She batted his hands away from her and cupped his chin in her hands. Her eyes, now heterochromatic – one dead and unseeing, and the other blazing orange and red, surveyed him. She ran her fingers, both whole and broken, over his lips, her gaze dipping down to trace the path her fingers had just followed.

 “Please, Loki?”

 He nodded mutely, his words gone from him. He licked his lips, trying to taste her touch on his skin. Even with her standing right in front of him, the craving to taste her on his tongue was too much to ignore. 

 Keshaara pressed her forehead to his, and when he tilted his head up to kiss her, she turned away, looking to the window, and the darkening sky. He made some small complaint at that, not used to her being so recalcitrant about kissing him. She spread his legs wide, mimicking the stance he had presented when he had been seated on his throne as he watched her battle. Loki grunted in anticipation, his cock hardening under the water. Instead of the sweet feeling of her cunt wrapping around him, all he was treated to was the less-sweet feeling of her pert ass pressing up against him as she sat neatly between his legs, leaning back against him and resting her head on his shoulder. Through half-lidded eyes, she stared out of the window in front of them.

 Every place they touched was aflame, and the heat of the water in combination with everything else made him dizzy. When he wrapped his arms around her waist, she did not object, or push his hands away. When he dipped his head to press a kiss into her hair, she did not say anything. No, she watched the sky, waiting for the moment when the moon’s dominion would be complete over the sun. Idly, her hands roved her body, scrubbing blood and dirt from her body. He pressed one of the washing cloths into her hands, and when she waved it away, he moved it to idly stroke up and down the side of her body Fandral had impaled on his sword. Keshaara did not so much as wince, but he rubbed soothing patterns on her hipbone regardless. She did not move or speak to him at all.

 Emboldened, with his blood searing his veins, he kissed her shoulder, pressing chaste kisses into her flesh, stippling her body with constellations she did not know yet. He wanted to pattern her skin with constellations only the two of them would ever know, cover her with his lips, pattern her flesh with his own imprint, but he settled for starting with small, no-longer-chaste kisses along the gentle curve of her neck and shoulder. He rubbed circles on her stomach with his fingers, and when she shifted in his lap, canting her hips a different way and leaning into him with the barest of sighs, he realized that…

 “Kesh, I-”

 “Please, Loki. Just teach me about your stars.”

 The sky was dark now, and the stars began to peek out from behind the veil of night. Loki rested his chin on her shoulder, lifted a hand and began to instruct Keshaara on the little slice of stars they could see. For a good few minutes, she allowed the instruction without any movement on her part. She watched his long fingers outline the parts of the constellations that they could see through the window. His voice was low and rumbling as he did what he could to show her the stars. She said nothing, not even when he murmured questions into her neck, or when his hand dared to caress her side. She said nothing when his apology finally came to him, only stiffened in his grasp as the words hit her, before relaxing again.

 “Loki, I cannot see the stars from here,” she said softly, rising up out of his lap and walking forward to the opposite edge of the bath.

 Even with the water hot enough to raise a flush on Keshaara’s skin, the sudden absence of her from his lap made him feel cold. He followed behind her, his fingers brushing the thin wound on her back from Fandral’s sword. She knelt on the seating-ledge on that far edge of the bath, looking up at the wider sky that was presented to her, resting her elbows on the cooler tiles of the ground, and sitting down on her heels, leaving no room for Loki behind or beneath her. So he sat next to her, with his back against the lip of the tub and continued outlining the stars for her. Keshaara tracked every last one of his movements with a single-minded intensity, branding this new sky into her brain. When there was no more sky to be explained to her (it had only taken a few moments to explain the constellations they could see, though he had made the hollow-sounding promise to take her atop the nearest mountains to show her the full cloak of the sky), Loki fell silent, waiting for her to say something.

 Instead, she turned around, sitting next to Loki, her bare skin just barely touching his. The way she was sitting presented him only with the unmarred half of her face, and he took the silent moment to study her. It took no skill to see the sorrow writ into her flesh.

 “Kesh?”

 She tilted her head down, a small smile on her lips. With a movement faster than Loki could process immediately, she twisted and turned herself, swinging one of her legs over his so that she was straddling him. His mind unhelpfully reminded him of the last time they had bathed together and she had been in his lap like this, and the coy smile that danced across Keshaara’s face told him that she knew it as well. Her hands came up to his chest, and when they touched him, he gasped. How it was that she was so _hot_ against his flesh he never could understand.

 She traced patterns on his skin, and it took him seconds to recognize the constellations he had just taught her being sketched back out. There was silence between them for minutes, as Keshaara idly traced star-patterns against Loki’s pale flesh.

 Her hands crept higher on his chest, and Loki recognized the constellations she had taught him in Skyrim being outlined next, starting with the Atronach…she sketched the Lord over his heart, the Serpent draped his collarbones, the Ritual marred his ribcage, and on and on, until all that was left was the Lady and Lover. Anticipation seared him as she took her hand from his chest to reach back to her own body, tracing the Lady across her own chest, in the valley of her breasts, skipping over the tough scars that lashed across her body, and then reaching back to him, placing her hands on his neck, and ever-so slowly, outlining the Lover over the column of his throat.

 Loki’s moan rumbled through him. Keshaara leaned in, dipping her head down so that her mouth was pressed to the shell of his ear. It only took a small movement of her hips, a slight tensing of her thighs, a breathy sigh straight into Loki’s ear and his cock was just barely inside of her. Slowly, she lowered herself down onto him, and his groan escalated to a hissed curse. _Hels she was **hot**_.

 “You nearly killed me today, Loki. You sent me into battle. You commanded my blade that you had stripped from me. You nearly killed me.”

 Loki opened his mouth to object, but her hands were still on his throat and when her fingernails cut into him, he silenced himself.

 “How many opponents did I face in your name, my Prince?”

 Her voice rasped in his ear, but she was not moving. Her heat soaked into him, turning his blood to ash, melting his bones to dust, and Loki struggled to find his words.

 “Fifteen,” he grit out as she clenched around him, squeezing the answer out of him.

 “Fifteen. Unarmed, I was. Unarmored, I was. You forbade me my magic, you forbade me a weapon. Fifteen times I fought for you,” she growled, her hands moving back to his chest, and slowly, she began to move up and down his length. “And fifteen times, I will take your pleasure from you.”

 Loki’s eyes damn near crossed at the growled proclamation, and he grabbed her hips and forced her back down until she was fully seated on him, and he was fully sheathed inside of her. He could not formulate the sentence that danced on the edge of his tongue, and when her mouth wrapped around the lobe of his ear, sucking gently, her tongue tracing the back of the shell of his ear, he completely lost the words he had wanted to say.

 Her fingertips tapped out the constellations he had taught her across his chest, interspersed with the occasional quick scratch down his side, across his stomach, up his neck, over the marks she had given him the night before. She pressed her lips to the side of his neck, biting as she rocked against him.

 His first orgasm slammed into him like a fist to the gut, surprising him with the force of it. A long, broken moan tumbled from his lips as Keshaara never stopped her slow, methodical movements. Even with his hands on her hips, even when he tried to urge her to move faster, she never changed her pace. Not any faster, not any slower. Just at that maddening pace. Never anything different.

 “ _One_ ,” she growled into his ear.

 He keened, gasping her name out when he could find his breath again. His eyes rolled as she continued her assault.

 “Which constellation is this, again, Loki?”

 He tried to find the focus to pay attention to what her fingers were doing, but they danced sin, not stars and he could not bring his sharp mind to think back to what they had just been saying, let alone star-charts that had never held his interest. 

“K- _kesh_ , I-”

 “Yes, my Prince? What is it?”

 Her inner muscles clenched around him now. Every slow rise and fall of her cunt on his cock was accentuated with the fluttering of her innermost muscles around him. He grunted, thrusting up into her, trying to pull her down onto him, trying to get her to move faster, move harder, stop teasing him, stop doing _that_ with her mouth. She licked and laved the bruises she had given the night before, moaning his name into his neck.

 “Keshaara, _please_. I want-”

 “You will only get what I give you, Loki. You nearly killed me.”

 “I wasn’t trying to-”

 Keshaara growled at him. Her magic thrummed through the air, and Loki found his hands being pulled away from her and pressed into the tile of the baths. He moaned obscenely, straining against her magic, desperate to touch her again.

 “Kesh please, please, please, I just want-”

 Her fingers clawed down his sides. He howled, bucking as best he could trapped beneath her in the water that was too hot and it was all too much.

 “I don’t fucking **care** what you **want** , Loki. You nearly _killed me_.”

 She bit his ear, and his second orgasm crashed through him. Still, Keshaara kept her pace, slow and methodical against him.

 “That’s _two_. You owe me twelve more.”

 Loki was dizzy with desire, but twice…so soon, he could barely keep his wits about him, barely could catch his breath, because she was still moving against him, still dancing her fingers against his chest, still stippling his neck with kisses that made him ache for her all the more. He had her, he had her completely, in the baths of his home realm, he had her riding him like she had done back in Skyrim, and she was gasping his name. He had her and it was not enough. He needed more, he craved more, and she was not giving it to him. She had held parts of herself apart from him, hidden secrets from him, and even now, he could taste the sensation of something critical missing from what they were doing but his mind could not comprehend what it could be.

 “Kesh, I won’t be able to. It’s too much, I can’t-” he babbled when his breath returned to him, and he could form words into coherency.

 She stopped, and pulled away from him. The way she leaned back, tilting her hips back, clenching around him even as he tried to thrust back up into her made him gasp and moan her name all over again. He had never thought her nickname had been too long, never thought her name had an overabundance of syllables until his voice failed him, until she had stripped his ability to manage even a part of her name.

 “You can. You will. I did.”

 Loki grunted as she returned to her movements, begging her to kiss him, to _Norns please_ kiss him. He did not want to pay attention to the words that spilled from his lips. He had found his voice, it seemed, and his voice could do nothing but cry out for her.

 She sealed her mouth across his, kissing him…not brutally, but sensually. Gently. Softly. Even when her tongue danced into his mouth, she was soft, yielding against him. Slow and gentle, she kissed him, languidly stroking his hair. Loki wanted the brutality, he wanted the savagery. He wanted her to dominate him, he wanted her bite and claw and scream his name. He wanted her to make sure she made him howl her name. Because the gentle, the soft and ~~loving~~ sweetness made him squirm. It was too much to take in. The slow pace was one thing, the careful and methodical tempo could drive any man mad, but the way she hummed, the gentle nuzzling of the side of his neck, the soft twirling of his inky black hair around her shortened fingers, that - _that_ was too much.

 “Keshaara, I need-”

 “You have everything you need. You have me bouncing up and down and up and down on your thick, magnificent cock, you have me wrapped around you, clenching around you, you have me riding you, kissing you. You have everything you need, Krojunsekrah.”

 He moaned, throwing his head back. Her words made him shudder beneath her, but she still kept the same pace. Keshaara leaned down to be closer to him. Loki tensed, prepared for her bite, prepared for the sweet sensation of pain, and all he got was Keshaara’s lips pressed sweetly to his throat. She layered kisses over every part of him, even when he begged for her to hurt him, begged for her to bite, to claw, to curse him again.

 A knock at the door made him freeze up, and with a smile, Keshaara brought her face back up to his, her nose touching his.

 “Who is it?” Keshaara asked sweetly, still riding Loki slowly.

 He looked to her with panic, his eyes wide with fright.

 “My Lady, the feast draws closer and you had not come to be dressed. Are you okay?”

 Dόmhildr’s voice made Loki hiss a warning to Keshaara.

 “I am well, Dόmhildr. Is there something you need? The door is unlocked, if there is something you would like.”

 True to her words, the sound of the lock unlatching echoed through the bath. Loki made a panicked, unprincely noise under his breath, and was shushed with Keshaara’s finger over his lips.

 She leaned down so her mouth was against his ear again.

 “I am the Archmage of Winterhold Loki. Do not move, do not _speak_ , and she will not see you.”

 Loki panted, but could do nothing else to get her off of him, to get her to stop before Dόmhildr entered the room. He froze beneath Keshaara, but when the servant woman said nothing, and Keshaara carried on talking to her handmaiden, he figured her words were true. He could not move his arms still, even though he wanted to. He wanted to grab her and push her broken face into the tile of the bathroom and fuck her voiceless. He wanted to fuck and fuck and fuck her because she was clenching around him delightfully and oh by the _Norns_ he was cumming again.

 Keshaara, mid-conversation with her servant, looked back towards Loki. A smile dusted her lips, and when Dόmhildr turned away, she mouthed “ _Three_ ” at him, and did not stop. She did not stop and her pace was the same maddeningly slow thing.

 “Is that all, Dόmhildr?”

 “Yes, my Lady. I will go prepare things for you back in your room.”

 “I will meet you there in fifteen minutes then. I need to wash my hair out once more and bandage my wounds, and then I will be prepared.”

 Keshaara smiled at her servant, who bowed politely and exited the room. All at once, Loki felt his arms drop, freed from the bonds Keshaara had placed on him. It took him a moment to process what had happened, but then he was surging upwards, grabbing her around the waist. He lifted her, and like he had done back in Braidwood’s hotsprings, he threw her to the floor. Keshaara laughed, hooked her leg around his hips and urged him on.

 Loki thrust into her with wild abandon, grunting his pleasure out above her, gasping her name into the crook of her neck.

 When he stilled, when he pushed himself up from the sweet, maddeningly hot touch of their bodies together, Keshaara was smiling dreamily at him.

 “Four, Loki. Excuse me, it appears we have dallied here overlong. I look…forward to the rest of this evening.”

 Loki smirked at her, and bent back over her so he could kiss her again. He could feel the twist of her lips as she smiled broadly into the embrace. As he pulled away, she licked at her lips and pulled her familiar second skin back around her, covering scars she did not want others to see. Color returned to her ruined eye, and Loki ran his fingers over where her scar had been. Nothing. He felt nothing of what he knew to be there. She had hidden herself from him like she had done before…like she would have continued doing if he had not intruded upon her.

 “Keshaara, I-”

 “Oh, hush Loki. Get off of me so I can get dressed as appropriate and go be your Champion again.”

 Her words cut deeper than expected, and he pushed himself up off of her. Keshaara stood, dripping water. Rivulets of red still touched her flesh, leaking from wounds that still were not completely closed. He reached for her, but she already had golden light dancing around her hands. Her wounds were sealing, and she stood, hale and whole and gloriously naked before him. He watched her carefully, looking for any one thing to say that would make sense. She took his silence as agreement, and a slight frown touched her face, and she turned from him stiffly.

 “I will see you at the feast then, I suppose. My Prince,” she said, inclining her head politely.

 Loki watched, too stunned to say anything, and panting too hard to try, as Keshaara dried herself with a flush of magic, pulled a simple clean robe on (Dόmhildr had brought it for her, after all), slipped a pair of soft-heeled shoes on over her bare feet, and left the room. Only when she was gone did a thousand thousand things come to him – words that should have been said but now had no place in his mouth. The room was suddenly stifling hot, too much for his naturally cold blood to bear. When it had been her, it was bearable, the pain excruciatingly delicious, and without her, it was the uncomfortable feeling of standing too close to a wildfire. Her scent hung heavy in the steamy air.

 His magic consumed him, and Loki fled from the room.


	14. Fastr

The Tale of the Dragonborn

The Tale of the Jotun Prince

* * *

 

 

By the time she made it back to her room, she could feel the beginnings of Loki’s cum dripping down her leg. Knowing that Dόmhildr would notice such a thing if her housecarl was to dress her made her wet and rocked her with a deep desire. His name was on the tip of her tongue and her knees went week. She caught herself before she stumbled, and shook her head to clear the desire dogging her.

 She had no urge to go crawling back to Loki but – _Oh Divines, crawl to Loki_.

 She had **no urge** to go crawling back to Loki. She had other things to do with her evening, like making him orgasm eleven more times so that he could feel the brunt of her displeasure. Four times, four was not nearly enough. Not for what he had put her through. He was going to keen her name before the night was over. He was going to bed and plead with her, he was going to fill her with his seed and she was going to carve her name into his bones.

 Too soon, she was standing outside of the door to her room, panting and sopping wet. She licked her lips (Divines, they tasted like Loki still), tried to compose herself, and opened the door.

 A familiar form, gilded in green and gold, was conversing cheerily with Dόmhildr. Keshaara’s heart stopped. Loki looked up at her, and smiled. She offered him a wan smile in response.

 “Oh, my Champion returns. You look well recovered from your fighting. The baths must have treated you well.”

 “I found it not quite as relaxing as I would have liked. The water was a touch too cold for my taste, my back seems to have knotted up something terribly, and none of the soap smelled right. But, lo, I am here regardless. Dómhildr, I believe I should be able to dress myself tonight. May I see what you have prepared?” Keshaara said glibly, looking Loki over from head to toe with a small smile on her face.

 There was a click as Loki’s mouth snapped shut. His green eyes narrowed.

 “Certainly the baths were not so bad as that, Keshaara?” he called after her as Dómhildr led her into the sidechamber.

 “Why if you were so curious about my bathing habits, Loki, you could have asked more directly. I am sure the intricacies of my bathing are of utmost importance to you, as my Prince. Here, would you mind checking behind my ears for any dirt I missed? Blood is passing hard to get off of skin, as I’m sure someone of your talents knows.”

 There was a smirk on her face and as Loki advanced on her, some cutting remark on his tongue, she twisted remarkably quickly and slammed the door on his nose. The sounds of his rather colorful cursing echoed through her antechamber, and with a conspiratorial wink she turned to Dómhildr. She reached for the dress, and as she had done for nearly every time getting dressed in Skyrim, she pulled it onto her, swapping it for the robes she had been wearing. Dómhildr made a surprised squeaking noise, but Keshaara shushed her with a wave of her hand.

 “It is a small magic from back home. So small it’s banal, actually. Very useful when you need to get into clothing quickly. Lace me up, if you please?”

 Keshaara turned her back to Dómhildr, pulling her hair out of the way so the servant could tighten the laces. The alterations to the dress made the corset all the more important, because as soon as the laces were tightened, the bustier of gilded metal fit around her waist without pinching, and everything else fell into place. A faux breastplate, designed not to protect, but to accentuate. It was etched with designs that were not at all familiar to her, but that looked as if they fit the swirling etches that were seen elsewhere in Asgard. There were a pair of ornamental vambraces and sabbatons as well, gilding her in armor far from functional. Then again, she had just fought without functional armor regardless, so it was all well and good. A gossamer cape fastened at the nape of her neck, and then again at the thin chains that encircled her wrists, making her every movement a fluttering symphony of movement.

 “Does it look well, Dómhildr?”

 “You make an attractive Aesir, my Lady.”

 “I am a Nord, nothing more. But thank you. Would you handle my hair again? Or is there a better style for this evening? It appears as if I am attired more formally than before.”

 “No, there is no reason to change that. Sit here, and I shall have you readied in a moment.”

 “Wonderful, I would rather think my escort for the evening is stewing outside already.”

 Dómhildr was quiet at that, as she worked on Keshaara’s hair and jewelry, but Keshaara could see a smile twisting at her lips.

 “There, you should be ready. Go stun them all, my Lady.”

 Keshaara smiled at Dómhildr, and rose from the chair she had been seated in.

 “Thank you for everything you have done, Dómhildr.”

 Dómhildr nodded, and smiled. Keshaara exited the room first, sweeping past a still simmering Loki, and heading for the door. She opened it just as a guard made a move to knock, startling the man, who looked at her with apprehension, then awe, before stepping aside.

 “Fandral had come to see you, my Lady,” he finally choked out, gesturing to the Asgardian who he spoke of.

 “So he sees me. My title, sir guard, is “Thane”. I do not insist upon it often, but you are a guardsman, and should address me as proper. “My Thane” is appropriate for me, or if you prefer not to call me as such, my title is “Dovahkiin”, Do-vah-kiin, or if the word eludes you, Dragonborn. Thank you.”

 The guard stiffened and nodded rigorously, and his partner copied the movement.

 She offered a small nod to them both as acknowledgement, and nothing more.

 “Thank you kindly, gentlemen. Fandral, what brings you to my room?”

 “I thought a lady such as yourself should have an escort for the evening. Your companion last night seemed rather…ill suited for you.”

 It was this moment when Loki chose to storm out of the room behind Keshaara, his hand reaching for her hip, though she turned him away with a casual flick of her hand. 

“Her companion and escort for the evening is right here, Fandral, your presence is not needed.”

Loki’s sneer twisted his face into something hideous, and Fandral sneered back, some sort of masculine ire raised by Loki’s sudden appearance outside. Keshaara looked between the two men as they continued sparring back and forth for her hand as escort. She allowed it to carry on for a while before it got too grating, and stopped the conversation with a raised hand.

 “Well it seems the two of you have far better things to do than escort little me to the feast. I shall leave the both of you to escort each other and I shall find my own way, thank you.”

 She, with a flare that made Loki feel as deeply green with envy as his cloak’s color, turned away from them both and walked towards the feasting hall, a smile playing on her lips. There was a moment, and then both men stopped their squabbling and followed after her. Fandral drew up on her left, and Loki took her right side, glowering across to the golden-haired swordsmaster.

 “Apologies, my Lady Kesh.”

 “Keshaara, if you please. Kesh is a name I have yet given you permission to call me Kesh, regardless of how I introduced myself.”

 Her sharp words were belied with a soft grin, and Fandral took the gentle rebuff in stride, apologizing and inclining his head to her. They walked in comfortable silence. Or at least, Keshaara chose to interpret it as a comfortable silence, with Loki glowering at Fandral whenever he thought her gaze was elsewhere, and Fandral cast sidelong glances at her. Keshaara diplomatically did not look at either of them, or address them.

 Not until she saw an opening to a outdoor patio did she stop. Fandral moved on for a few more steps, but Loki stopped with her, turning almost in sync with her movements. She walked towards the balcony, Loki still trailing behind her without missing a beat. Fandral, only the slightest bit slower, followed behind, not daring to jog to catch up with her.

 “Keshaara, what has caused this?”

 “The stars, Fandral. I just…wanted to look at them for a moment. Please, carry on to the feast, I will be there momentarily. The new sky….I spent a long time alone and outdoors at night back, uhm, _home_ , and this new sky is more than I expected.”

 He nodded, and excused himself with a bow. Loki drew up next to Keshaara, his hands clasped behind his back as he waited in silence. Only a few of the constellations that dotted the sky were familiar to her, and their familiarity was fleeting. She could not be sure that this was truly what she wanted, to know this sky as easily as she had known the skies of Skyrim. It almost seemed dishonest to the memories of home to so casually devote herself to the stars of another realm.

 Almost reverently, she rested her hands on the delicately carved banister, and leaned over the edge, looking out over the city of gold and bronze before her. Perhaps this was what Markarth looked like before the Dwemer vanished. Perhaps it didn’t. Standing there, with the gentlest of breezes tousling her hair, with the taste of foreign magic in the air, Keshaara felt forlorn. The weight of this new world fit oddly on her shoulders. She had born much on those shoulders, and now, this new place did not settle how it should about her.

 “Kesh…”

 Loki came up behind her, hesitating only a moment before placing a hand on her elbow. Faster than he had expected, she turned and leaned up into him, her mouth finding his with an ease and accuracy that was almost unnerving if it wasn’t so pleasurable. She pulled his head closer to her, cradling the back of his head with one hand and pressing the other against his jaw. Loki had to catch himself, stumbling as his foot caught hers. He pressed his own hand to the railing (it was still warm from where this woman of fire had lain her hand) and pushed her back against it. One of his hands pulled her close by the small of her back, and while he marveled at how tiny she felt with that corset pulling her smaller and smaller, it almost seemed wrong for someone as ~~hugely marvelous immensely important meaningful~~ Keshaara-like as Keshaara was to be so small.

 The faux armor she wore dug into his clothing, but it was so much better to feel her like that, pressed close to him. She opened her mouth when his tongue licked the seam of her lips, and norns, their tongues were touching again. He had no idea why it was so erotic to feel the slick interplay of her tongue against his. Keshaara drew back just far enough to nip at his lower lip. Not hard enough to hurt, but with just enough force to remind him of all the other times she had spared no gentleness in her treatment of him.

 The moan was tumbling out of him before he could catch it, and her hand was already halfway down his pants before he noticed it.

 “Keshaara, wait – not here, Heimdall will-”

 Her hand wrapped around him and she dipped her head to nip his neck.

 “And what?”

 She licked the spot her teeth had been on, and slo-o-o-wly she stroked his length, her fingers dancing artfully across his flesh in a way he was very certain would have had men lesser than he fall to their knees and beg for her graces. As it was, all that happened was that arousal scorched his blood and his knees went weak. He had to give as good as he got, though, and he thrust up into her grip, letting Keshaara feel just how hard she made him and simultaneously pulling her back in painfully close so he could fuck her mouth with his tongue. Any part of his body going into and out of one of her orifices was like fucking her for real, but not nearly good enough.

 Keshaara, ever devious, ever delightful, timed her strokes with his tongue. In, out, up, down, in out, up down. She smiled into their torrid kiss as he nearly pushed her over the railing in his attempt to get closer. His fingers mussed her pretty hair, and nearly tore that pretty dress off of her pretty little body. The railing bit almost painfully into the small of her back, and every thrust of Loki’s hips came damned close to pushing her over the edge. The thrill of it colored the kiss with brilliant gold and dripping silver, and when her own gasped moan escaped her, Loki kissed her all the harder, intent on swallowing down every sweet sound she made.

 Norns and Divines, somehow they ended up stumbling to the corner of the balcony, where the lights of Asgard did not touch them, where a unwatchful eye would miss them, where Loki could hike the skirts of her dress up and drive his fingers into sopping wet, fluttering, cunt.

 Again, he drank her sighs and gasps in. They made him dizzy and harder again. There was too much clothing, too much space in between them, she was too small and he was too large, but that did not matter when one of her legs wrapped around his narrow waist and she was urging him inside of her with hissed endearments (well, curses, but with her they were the same) and then he was seated back inside of her again.

 He had her pinned up against a wall, one of his hands bracing his erratic movements as they continued their impromptu rendezvous. Keshaara clutched his shoulders, pulling him as close as possible to her, kissing him as if he was the last solid thing in her entire world. His name was her benediction, and every sweet thrust he foisted upon her body was met with a gasp, a cry, a long broken moan Loki grunted her name into the kiss, only breaking the contact with her lips when he felt the shuddering of pleasure starting to uncoil in his gut. He buried his head in the crook of her neck, over a wound long healed and long forgotten, and bit down, his teeth momentarily sharper than normal, and his strength more than he knew.

 Keshaara keened, her cunt clamping down on the deliciously hard, deliciously perfect cock inside of her and Loki could not help but fall over the edge of pleasure with her. Her blood tainted his teeth and he swiped his tongue over the pinpricked wounds he had inflicted on her. The fabric of the dress was touched with blood, spotted in only the smallest place. Loki’s hands clutched at her hips, loathe to let her go, but knowing that he needed to.

 She gasped his name again when he slid out of her, feeling vaguely empty without him. Before he could pull away from her entirely, however, she twined her hands in the collar of his clothing and leaned up into him. Her breathy pants as she tried to catch herself made Loki squirm delightfully, a half-caught groan spilling from his lips. But finally, she regained the ability to speak and then-

 “ _Five_.”

 With that, she was away, untangling herself from his embrace, straightening her dress so she was presentable once again. Loki could only watch the way her tongue flicked out to taste first her lower lip, and then the upper with a single fast movement. He hissed, reaching for her. He wanted to have that tongue doing nasty things inside his own mouth, but Keshaara danced neatly out of his way, and with a smile that made his insides curl, she turned on her heel and walked away from him, heading towards the feasting hall.

 Loki growled something that could have been a curse or a blessing under his breath, and hastily re-adjusted his clothing. His hands could not help but feel the dampened clothing from where her delightfully tight cunt had left its mark. She was already gone by the time he was all…adjusted, but her smell hung on the air.

 He chased after her, his steps long and quick. There was, apparently, mischief in Keshaara, and if he had his way, Mischief himself would be inside her again. The thought spurred him on. The evening, after all, was rather young.

 

And she had promised him ten more.


	15. Frásǫgn

The Tale of the Dragonborn

The Tale of the Jotun Prince

* * *

 

 

Loki stormed into the feast, his emotions warring within him, but his face a perfectly still mask. Even if his blood was boiling beneath his skin, even if he was moments away from making some huge scene and pulling Keshaara away from whatever group of people she found herself talking to so he could throw her onto the table and ravage her body with his, he would not let that emotion bleed through his visage. No, he would remain perfectly calm and collected and cool.

 And when he was close enough to Keshaara again, he would show her just what it meant to fuck the God of Tricks. She wanted to play a game, then he would play a game with her. He would play a game that would have her begging and panting and pleading for more. He just needed to find her and get close enough to sketch runes onto her flesh and he could spend the feast sitting in the corner, watching her deal with his magic.

 But he could not find her, not right away. Even though he knew her intimately, knew the curve and form of her body, had not minutes before had her pressed against his body so tightly that he could have felt her heart’s beating had he not been focused on more carnal aspects of her body’s rhythm, he could not see her.

 Keshaara, for her part, was rather enjoying the attention she was receiving. Upon entering the feast hall, she had almost been certain that no one would speak to her, for fear of raising her ire or otherwise offering insult to a strange were-creature, but she had instead been nearly swamped by interested parties, the first of which was Sif, who though prickly by personality, approached with a pleasant smile.

 “Lady Keshaara, you have recovered well.”

 “And you, Sif. Please, I am no Lady. If you insist on a title of some manner – Thane, Dovahkiin, or Dragonborn work just as well as none. Are there any injuries that you sustained that I did not heal? I would feel as if I had done you a slight if I did not tend to the wounds I caused.”

 “The healers say they had never seen such a clean healing job, Thane Keshaara.”

 Keshaara smiled, inclining her head gracefully.

 “Your words are a kindness, I am sure.”

 “You are truly a mage of note – that was quite the battle. I am…sorry if I had offended you earlier. It seems we never truly understood what it meant when you defined your titles for us.”

 Keshaara made a noncommittal sound beneath her breath, but nodded regardless.

 “I am a woman who wears many titles, and I can see them becoming like baubles instead of the hard-won definers that they are actually are in Skyrim. Would you hear those tales? I assure you, the majority of them are quiet and boring.”

 Sif laughed at the joke (that was not really a joke – no one likes hearing how you became Thane because you ran around and found this farmers lost family heirloom axe and that midwife’s philandering husband’s bones and so on) and waved a hand behind her.

 “Come, sit with us. Your unescorted arrival is a boon to us both. We can sit and talk of weapons and womanly things while the men lick their wounds and growl obscenities under their breath.”

 “Lead on then, fair Maiden Sif. I shall follow where you lead.”

 Sif did not do something so crass as to lead her by the wrist, but she did make a gallant sweep of her arm to invite Keshaara to follow her around the feast. As before, Keshaara followed behind the first person who had greeted her, but this time, the air was different. There was heavy suspicion, and yes, there was fear, but there was something else too…something that was close to respect without actually affording her that much.

 “Here shall be good. Fandral, Volstagg, Hogun, the Thane Keshaara will be joining us.”

 There was a brief pause as the gathered men took in the odd title, accepted it, and nodded their greetings.

 “Hello Fandral. Have your wounds been tended too, and your armor repaired? I would see to them myself, but I was rather occupied with the next fight, and I forgot to ask you earlier.”

 Fandral beamed at her, his gaze open and awe-filled.

 “Rather well occupied, I would say. You fought divinely and your skills with a borrowed weapon were astounding.”

 Keshaara nearly flushed as the platitudes rolled off his tongue, finding immense pleasure in the praise. She could tell he meant every word, something that she had not really encountered for a long while. Gushing commendations were not commonly meant without the undercurrent of someone wanting something from her (oh, your muscles are so well defined and your titles so lengthy – would you mind going down into the catacombs and finding this very small gem it is very important to my family, thank you o great dovakiin), but Fandral had no inclination to ask such a thing of her. In fact, he carried on for a while longer, extolling her prowess, complimenting her swordplay, her steely resolve, her ability to make a decision that could have killed her, all to get the upper hand – and all without magic.

 “Thank you for your words, Fandral. Had I known I would have awed you this much, I would have brought my armor and axe and we could have fought properly.”

 “Ah, but those were taken from you, weren’t they?”

 Keshaara inclined her head.

 “I am a Nightingale. What’s yours is already mine,” she said with a wink at Fandral.

 He had the presence of mind to disguise his confusion with a well-placed cough into his gloved hand.

 “I’m sorry, you’re a what?” Sif asked, breaking the moment, thankfully.

 “I’m many things, fair Lady Sif. To which of my many titles do you refer? I am _Thuri_ Dovahkiin, Thane of all the holds of Skyrim, Progenitor of the lineage Kesson, now of the High King and his Queen, Nightingale, Dark Hand of my Brothers, Companion of Jorrvaskr, Voice of Storms, Skald of the College, Archmage of Winterhold, Sworn of the Daedra, Ashlander of Morrowind, Rider of Dragons, Destroyer of the End, and such and so on for about forty more minutes. Honestly, the court heralds usually do a much better job of announcing everything, even if they do butcher the dov-tongue.”

 There were a few moments full of confused stares.

 “See, those are actually fairly impressive titles, especially for only one person to have, so this is usually where there is silence anyway. But I gather this realm has nothing similar to those titles, so they mean less than nothing.”

 “Now I would not go that far, Keshaara-”

 “Ah, but I would. The title of Archmage was already challenged, and summarily defeated was it not? As was my status as Companion of the Inner Circle of Jorrvaskr, incidentally. I would rather posit that anything that falls outside expected norms is rather summarily disregarded. It would also explain why you all seem to have no respect for Loki, despite him being a mage on level with myself, whose name is sung through all of Skyrim for what he did in assisting me.”

 The stunned silence was all Keshaara needed to know she had touched on a lodestone.

 “He is-”

 “Nigh exactly what I am. Lord of Thieves, mage and subterfugeant. How is his title, as once-Prince of Asgard, somehow lessened by a different method of war? Do you think, honestly, any of you could stand against me and my magic? I could kill any of you, drive any of you mad, rend you from neck to navel with naught but a flick of my finger, and that is clearly not deserving of respect, but lo, if I did it with my axe, it would be a great accomplishment.”

 She was careful to keep her tone neutral, and did not look to any one person gathered until she was done speaking. She caught each of their gazes in turn, daring them to speak against what she said.

 “You fear the magic of others when it is used in battle because you know you could not stop it. If Loki wished you dead, he could kill you. That frightens you. Like so many other Nords, the concept of something you cannot control, cannot master, baffles you. And instead of celebrating what it can bring you, you revile it to the point where Loki was nigh afraid of being attacked when he was in Skyrim for being called battlemage – for being unmanned by the term. Battlemages like him, like myself, like the very few others who are allowed to call themselves as such, are _feared_ in Skyrim, placated and wooed like the High King’s favored consort, for terror follows a battlemage’s footsteps, and angering one is a surefire way to lose your life, and the lives of any man foolish enough to raise a banner in your defense.”

 Keshaara spoke as she had, countless times before, to those who would find something wrong with being what one always had been. None of the gathered would look her in the eye, and while Sif seemed upset, the other woman in attendance took what she had said in stride. Fandral looked pensive, withdrawn in upon himself, Volstagg was eating, and his expression was impossible to read, and Hogunn stared at her directly, his face still.

 “I still don’t trust him,” Fandral said, nearly sulking.

 “Just so. It has no forbearance on his ability that he finds humor in things that you do not. So that, then, is the title Archmage and battlemage explained, two terms often used to describe me in my litany of titles. Which was the next one you were questioning?”

 “You have called yourself Dovahkiin.”

 “Just so.”

 “What in the Nine Realms is a Dovahkiin?”

 Keshaara smiled.

 “Dragonborn, Dragon-Hunter-Born. I’m very good at killing dragons and stopping apocalypses. And the title is _Thuri_ Dovhakiin, to be exactlingly specific. And I enjoy the specificity of that particular title.”

 “Why?”

 “Because it is the reason I am so widely known in Skyrim. Beating dragons to death with an axe is rare enough, but stealing their souls and voices, an entirely other thing. Dovahkiin are rare occurrences, and often foretold of very bad things coming. My birth foretold the return of the first Dragon, Alduin the World-Eater. I was destined to, and did so, battling Alduin both in the physical realm, and when he retreated to the realms of Oblivion, I followed him, tracking him through the stars and gravestones of honored dead to end the threat of Alduin for all time.”

 She lifted both eyebrows and tilted her head as she smiled again, waiting for the next question.

 It was then that Loki found her, walking up from behind and placing a gentle hand on her elbow. Keshaara moved smoothly out of the way, allowing him to step up beside her. She would have had to have been completely sense-blind to magic to miss the spell that danced at his fingers as he traced lines across her flesh.

 “What ever are we talking about?”

 “You, Loki. What better thing to talk of than you?”

 The comment drew laughs from the Warriors Three and Sif, and Loki glowered at her. She gave him a broad, toothy smile, and laid a hand gently atop his own. He, for all his cunning, had momentarily forgotten who he was dealing with. Whatever spell he had been planning to foist upon her was returned to him, with a ninefold amplification because she was Keshaara and nine was a good number.

 It would be later when she would understand just why Loki stiffened and flushed, his pale skin deepening to a crimson that looked otherwise out of place on his skin. Her toothy grin only widened as she pumped more magic into the spell he had sought to lay upon her, binding it tight to him until she was certain that he could not squirrel his way out from underneath her new spell. She may be completely unfamiliar with his brand of spellwork, but that did not mean she could not figure it out enough to crank the energy dedicated to the spell above and beyond what Loki could have ever done on his own.

 “Uh…” Loki’s tongue failed him, to the shock of everyone. The flush on his high, sharp cheekbones deepened, and with a mumbled excuse, he walked away, back towards the table he and Keshaara had shared the evening prior.

 Keshaara watched him leave, confused, but mildly pleased that he had been so easily dissuaded.

 “Where is Skyrim, then?” Fandral offered, after he turned back to her.

 “To my understanding, it is outside of these Nine Realms. I’m not quite clear on where I am in relation to home, but Nirn – our world, and Mundus – our universe, are not a part of this place. If I remember my summoning here…there is a tree of stars. A glittering, gleaming tree, and surrounding it, nothingness. I fell, and only barely managed to grab onto it, and then found myself in the place of snow. Jotunheim? I think? Loki did not talk much of his realms when he was in Skyrim with me, so I am unfamiliar with the names. I do know that this is Asgard, and that there are eight other places that connect here, but that is all…”

 “You are far from home, then.”

 “So Loki actually went to that place where you were from? How?”

 Fandral spoke, and Sif nearly spoke over the top of him, clearly excited by something.

 “Yes, I am far from home. I do not know how Loki came to be in Skyrim, only that I found him dangling from a tree as I was, ah, chased, by a dragon, and that he was not someone I could leave there, in the Reach. But yes, he was there. Even now, there are songs sung of him and what he did for me while he was there. He is counted a hero, and he was in Skyrim for…but a month at the most.”

 “He never left his cell – there are guards on him every day, every moment. Were, I mean.”

 “Time passes differently. Loki says it has been a mere month and a half here since I sent him back to Asgard from Skyrim, but for me it had been…four hundred and fifty years, or so. I lost count after the years grew beyond counting. Which makes me…um, four hundred and seventy three, or so. I have no idea how that relates to your people’s ages, but for Nords like me, that is older than almost any who ever lived, and I live ageless.”

 There was some small silence after that.

 “So…the stories he told, they were true? Of a woman who shouted dragons out of the sky, conquered storms with her voice, who killed with impugnity and rode a horse made of shadows?”

 Keshaara snorted, and looked to Loki, who still appeared a little…green and stiff over at his table.

 “Well he’s not incorrect in the descriptions, and I would accuse him of listening too closely to the bards, had he not been long gone by the time the bards found those stories to tell. I am a very decorated woman, after all, and rather deserving of those platitudes. If nothing else, you know I fight like a madwoman.”

 Sif laughed, and the men looked mildly uncomfortable.

 “Yes, but what he described seemed the ravings of a madman.”

 “Fandral, you speak to one whose name was written into Oblivion. Madness is part and parcel to who I am. It is madness for the Aedra to bestow the blood of dragons upon a mortal Nord, to allow any creature to absorb the soul and power of a dragon, madness to allow a living being into Sovengarde to do battle amongst the dead. Many things about me are madness, but that does not make them false. Madman or not, Loki did not lie about me.”

 There was silence for a while before Sif broke it again.

 “Tell me more about Skyrim, Keshaara. Your homeland is far from here, and I am sure you miss it.”

 Keshaara shook her head, a small frown on her place.

 “Skyrim is not home, and has never been. I am from Morrowind, a place of ash of fire. Skyrim would never be home for me. Home was taken, and I was given a pale replacement. For four hundred and fifty three years I have been apart from the place my heart calls home. Skyrim is a beautiful place, a land verdant and cold, harsh and unforgiving, but touched with the Aedra’s divine hands. But it is not home.”

 Sif had the graces to apologize immediately, shame coloring her cheeks, and dusting the necks of the men as well. Keshaara smiled as prettily as she could manage, but made her excuses. That was enough of that conversation.

 She walked towards where Loki was seated, her brows drawing down as she drew closer. He looked practically ill by now, a sheen of sweat upon his brow, his hands gripping the fabric of his pants tightly, his entire body nearly trembling from some sort of concerted effort. She lifted a hand to him, trying to catch his attention so that she could ask what was going on, but her hand was intercepted by another woman’s.

 Startled, Keshaara turned to whoever had touched her and was shocked to see the woman who stood beside Odin.

 “My Lady Frig-”

 “Come with me, Dovahkiin Keshaara. I have a feeling we need to talk. My son can wait.”

 The weight of her words was not lost on Keshaara, who nodded quickly and moved with Frigga as she walked away. The Queen did not relinquish her hand, instead pulling it closer, and pulling Keshaara with her.

 “You are Loki’s champion, and so far, you have done admirably at defending him, for which I thank you. My husband would not have you know of this, but as his champion, you are allowed to ask for recompense for every battle you win.” Keshaara’s knees nearly wobbled as she recalled the ‘recompense’ she was planning on exacting from Loki. “As most champions do not face such contentious foes, you could ask for much. Without his permission, I cannot grant you your weapons or armor again. But you can ask for almost aught else and it will be yours.”

 Keshaara settled on nodding along to Frigga’s words as the Queen walked her out onto a gilded balcony far too similar to the one that she and Loki had, ah, enjoyed earlier. She swallowed the bubbling nervousness inside of her and turned to Frigga.

 “I would be gladdened by some sort of funding, to furnish my rooms with. I have…been accustomed to certain things being around me in my years, and many of those items were left behind when Loki summoned me hence. I do not need much, I do not think. Furs, wood for sculpting, access to an armory and metals and gems to forge into pretty baubles. Glasswork became something of a hobby of mine in my dotage. Books…books are always welcome. I leave the titles to your capable hands, but I know nothing of Asgard, the Nine Realms, or their histories, and would rather know of this new place I’ve found myself in. If that is too much, the books first, and the baubles second.”

 Keshaara was careful not to look directly to Frigga as she spoke, hedging her words with polite deference and a look to the skies. The stars above her here were wholly different than the ones she and Loki had seen while in the baths. They must be standing on an opposite side of the palace then. Frigga still had yet to release her arm, and patted Keshaara’s hand absently.

 “Of course. I will see that you get every book, detailing everything important that has happened in the Nine Realms. You will have access to the smithy under my own command, and left in peace should you require it. I will see that you have what you want, as long as you keep my son safe.”

 Keshaara nodded.

 “…If it is not too much to ask you about, Lady Frigga – you have twice called Loki son, while everyone else seems intent upon distancing him from your family.”

 “Because he is my son. He has always been my son, from the first day Odin brought him to me, wrapped in a torn, bloodstained cloak. You are perhaps too young to understand-”

 “My husband and I had twelve children, eleven of whom were brought to me wrapped in the swaddling fur my husband made for me before I gave birth to our first child. I understand.”

 Frigga looked at her, one rather perfect eyebrow raised. For a moment, Keshaara was struck by how similar that look was to the ones Loki had given her in Skyrim – regal confusion. And in the next moment, she realized that Loki got it from his mother.

 “I am older than I appear, you know,” Keshaara offered with a smile. “And I had attempted to speak to Loki of this matter when he was in Skyrim. He was bitterly against calling Thor brother when he spoke of Thor at all, and for the life of me, I could not understand. Adopted children are children of whoever raised them. Children belong to the parents who raised them. I had dozens of mothers and fathers – I grew up in a large family unit where anyone older than you by ten summers was your parent, and anyone younger than you by the same amount was your child. I did not understand his revision of his own history.”

 Frigga looked at her, weighing Keshaara’s words against whatever mental scales she carried within her.

 “You are a surprising woman, Keshaara. I am happy that my son managed to find a woman like you to champion him, even if you are from a place far from our understanding. He will not admit it, but he needs someone like you to balance him out. He has not been himself lately…no one has.”

 Words burned at her tongue, and Keshaara paused only a moment.

 “I have seen him…his eyes blue, and something eating him from the inside out. In Skyrim, it was only odd moments where a flash of a horrible temper would come out, but here, his temper will flare and his eyes…his green eyes are no more. I once…I tried to heal him, using my magic, but when I touched him, I felt…I saw a,” she stopped, shaking her head and laughing ruefully. “It sounds odd, but I saw a box. A glowing blue box, that spoke no words, but promised power unending. It promised power and Queenship, it promised everything that had been taken from me, and in exchange, I had to follow what it desired. I have not asked Loki about it…but it was something.”

 Frigga narrowed her eyes, casting her gaze out over the whole of Asgard. Keshaara regarded her profile, and knew immediately that much like Elisif the Fair, Frigga was far more than she appeared to be. Keshaara appreciated that.

 “I see. I had feared as much. Come, we should return to the feast. I will think of what you said, Keshaara.”

 The Dovahkiin nodded, and, as she had left the feast with Frigga holding her arm captive. She looked for Loki, and found him absent from the table they were meant to share. Regardless, Keshaara moved to the place she had sat the night before, casting the same light-spell to illuminate the area to the appropriate levels. She awaited the arrival of the food, talking in light, happy tones with the people who served her food, and when Sif walked over to sit with her (with Fandral following behind), she greeted them amicably, inviting them to sit and eat with her.

 No challenges were shouted, no one spoke dangerous words at her, and the hall was rather hushed. All she concerned herself with was where Loki had gone to. But she would find that out soon enough.


	16. Baugr

The Tale of the Jotun Prince

* * *

 

 

He had recognized his mistake mere moments after resting his hand on her flesh. He felt her magic surge and lash back at him. He had not considered that she would have been prepared for some sort of subterfuge attack. He felt her magic wrap around him, felt the spell he had carefully wrought and sketched in runes reach back for him instead of her, and very clearly felt her magic blend with his own until there was no way to control his own spell.

 It wormed beneath his clothing, branding itself into his skin, and immediately, he flushed. Keshaara had already turned away from him, a smile on her face. The spell made him feel warm, too warm, and he knew that it was only going to get worse. He had designed that spell with a very specific purpose and it made his toes curl in his boots to think what she could have done to the spell. He was quick to walk back to his table, and sit before the spell could activate too much.

 The answer came quickly, as he felt fingers press to his wrist, fluttering gently over his pulse, rubbing small circles into his skin. The soft touch could only be likened to Keshaara’s own fingers. That was all he could think of. Those fingers touching him could only be hers. Disregarding his clothing, the fingers trailed up his arm, tracing, _Norns,_ tracing out constellations again, detailing the stars of Skyrim up the entirety of his arm.

 Somehow, the secret, hidden touches on his left arm sent a rush of arousal lancing through him. He knew that that would happen, knew that this was the purpose of the spell, but whatever Keshaara’s magic had done, it had done well. The prickles of desire started in his chest, making it hard to draw breath in, and he knew they would only work lower as this spell continued.

 Her fingers dragged higher up his arm, pressing into the crook of his elbow, dancing around the outlines of his muscles, her fingernails rasping the skin in a way that made his hands clench overhard on the arm of the chair. Her palms flattened and moved across his chest, rubbing sinful circles into his skin.

 His nostrils flared as he tried to keep his breathing in check.

 Her fingers pinched at his nipples, her hands reached up to gently encircle his throat, rubbing down either side of the column of his windpipe, and then gently rubbed their way down his chest. Her hands traced every muscle, every bone, worming their way into every dip, crevasse and crease of his skin. They dragged across his skin, making him acutely aware of every single point of contact, and how each of those points did not actually exist because there was no one touching him.

 He tried shutting his eyes, just for a moment, to get his heart rate under control, to replace the flush on his cheeks with anything else, and to be coherent enough to answer questions should the come to him.

 Her hands multiplied, until he was being stroked and caressed by ten…eleven…twelve? hands, each not daring to go any lower than the hem of his pants, but each doing their very best to drive him to distraction. He hissed a warning, as if that would help, and only managed to startle a serving woman, who squeaked and nearly dropped her pitcher of mead. Loki angrily waved her away, snarling an apology that was worse than the initial curse. She fumbled the pitcher again, nearly sloshing mead all over his lap, and Loki wished for the mental clarity to sneer a cruel comment at her, but Keshaara’s hands were still ghosting across his flesh.

 So instead, he dismissed her from his presence, waving her mead away, and not even bothering to watch her retreat from him. The heat under his skin was only stoked by the gentle, soothing motions Keshaara’s hands made across his chest and arms. It should not be arousing to feel her like this, just barely touching him, tracing lines and constellations and patterns that could have been words, but he was a little distracted and could not make them out with only one hand drawing words, and the others sketching goodness knows what else.

 When he felt sweat start to drip down his face, he wiped it away. His hands trembled as he did so, and he quietly cursed again. Movement caught his eye, and he looked up to see Keshaara walking towards him. She looked Aesir and Nord simultaneously, the narrowed waist not doing anything to disguise her muscles, the confident way she moved, the inherent beauty of the woman named Dovahkiin. For that moment, the hands stilled, and the blessed relief from the petting made him gasp, but that was short lived. Frigga swooped down on Keshaara, diverting her path from him, and the hands returned.

 This time, they dared to start at his ankles, working their way up his legs while still more hands touched his chest reverently. Higher and higher the hands crept, and Loki froze in his seat, holding his breath against the onslaught. When the first hand palmed his crotch, he jumped, banging his knee on the underside of the table. No one paid him much mind, and he rubbed at his bruised knee ruefully. The hands retreated, almost as if chastened by the sudden pain he felt, and Loki sighed.

 The relief was short lived.

 Hesitantly, this time, the hands returned, stroking him in entirely chaste ways, but that did not help Loki’s situation at all. They were so gentle, caressing him softly, and it made his breath catch in his throat. The hands did not stray to any outwardly erogenous places, keeping to ‘safe’ places, tracing up and down his arms, across his shoulders, down the center of his chest and across his hips. He had hoped that not feeling the hands actually anywhere improper would have lessened the surge of desire, but those hopes were dashed quite quickly when the ache to be touched _properly_ became needle-sharp. Loki hoped against hope that this would be short-lived, that Keshaara’s magic would be incompatible with his, and it would stop.

 When he felt her lips press into the small dip beneath his ear, just next to the curve of his jaw, those hopes, and his resolve shattered.

 He stood up nearly fast enough to knock his chair over, fumbled to replace it properly. Loki felt the eyes of others on him, even as the hands kept their slow, methodical pace across his body, and without so much as an attempt at a sneer, fled the banquet hall for the relative safety of his rooms. The path between the two places – his rooms, and the feasting hall, was not overly long, but every step he took emboldened the hands, and now the mouth that seemed intent upon making his legs fall out from underneath him.

 They were doing nothing more sinful than stroking his flesh, rubbing tired muscles and tracing the lines of his body, but it was absolutely maddening. Whenever it seemed as if there was no one in the immediate area around him, the hands would push firmly, and he could feel just the barest hints of fingernails pressing into his skin. When there was someone who could see him, the hands barely touched him, but drew designs he could not focus on into his flesh. The lips, her mouth…that was truly the most irritating part, because he could feel her, as if she was standing in front of him, or behind him, her lips pressing softly to his skin. Not once did he feel her teeth, but he could feel the ghostly smile as the kisses were lain across his neck.

 It seemed as if it took ages for him to reach his rooms, and he stumbled through the huge doors with a ragged gasp. He pressed his back to the door (the door where he had pushed Keshaara into the wood so he could wrap her legs around him and greet her properly after so long apart), trying to steady himself. The hands left him then, and he sagged, relying on the door to hold him up.

 This torture he had designed for her was over, then. It had not gone to the extremes he had been preparing himself for, the extremes he had writ into the spell himself and had feared Keshaara’s magic would enhance. He pressed a hand to his face, trying to catch his breath, closing both of his eyes.

 Loki damn near yelped when he felt another hand cradle his face, jumping and opening his eyes. In front of him was Keshaara. No – a magical construct that just happened to look exactly as Keshaara did that evening. He could tell that much, at least. When he looked at her, with her hand extended to touch his face, he could feel nothing of her presence on him.

 He was not done yet, apparently.

 The construct smiled, and drew close to him. It was entirely disconcerting to see her – he could _see_ her touching him, pressing her body close to his, and Norns, leaning up so she could kiss him, but he could not _feel_ her. Not until his eyes drifted shut did he feel her at all, and then he felt her all at once, her mouth sealed to his, her hands reaching to wrap around his waist, her chest pressed against his.

 He knew it wasn’t her, he knew it was not really Keshaara, but she was in his arms and kissing him soundly. He could enjoy this for a few more minutes before dismissing the construct and undoing the magic that Keshaara had put onto him.

 When Loki felt a second pair of lips press to his jaw, he groaned and opened his eyes. Keshaara stood in front of him, dressed in Aesir finery, and Keshaara stood in front of him, wearing the mage-robes she had worn when they had been at Winterhold. His breath caught. He could see them both, but as before, when they began to touch him, pulling at his hands, his clothing, gently tugging on his hair, he could feel nothing, and their bodies passed through him.

 Loki swallowed a knot in his throat, and hesitantly…closed his eyes.

 The Keshaaras pulled him, tugging his sleeves, grabbing the hem of his pants and pulling. He stumbled after them, and was rewarded with a swift, passionate kiss from one of them as the other entwined her fingers with his and pressed her mouth to his knuckles. He groaned as he felt a third pair of hands start to work his clothing off from behind, peeling the outer layers off. Loki chanced opening his eyes, and the sensation of touch vanished again, leaving him half-dressed and halfway to his room. The newest Keshaara was the Keshaara of the last night they had spent together in Skyrim, pale skinned and red-eyed, with a throat that bore bruises he wished it didn’t, but with hungry eyes that promised to consume him as she had before.

 Loki’s breath caught as he saw another Keshaara appear – the one he had surprised in the baths just hours before. The single milky eye regarded him coldly, but the whole one was burning hot. This Keshaara was already naked, dripping wet, and battle-worn, but reached for him all the same. Loki sucked in a breath through his teeth, and for a moment, his eyes fluttered closed.

 All at once, his clothing was being pulled from him and he was being tugged towards his bedroom, a mouth sealed across his own, a tongue worming into his mouth as teeth nipped at his ear. He gasped as a hand wrapped around his cock, stumbling over his own discarded clothing as the clutter of Keshaaras urged him towards his bed.

 Loki opened his eyes to make sure he was where he thought he was, and as before, all sensation of touch abandoned him, leaving him surrounded by four Keshaaras in varying states of their own undress, his clothing half-off, and the echoes of their touches still buzzing atop his skin. Loki stripped out of his shirt, not minding where he threw it, just wanting it off. The Keshaaras swarmed him, pushing their not-there bodies through his very real one, urging him without words towards his bed. He went willingly, rather enjoying this spell now that he was in the privacy of his room.

 His back hit his bed, and he bounced just a bit. Keshaara of tonight climbed ontop of him, her feet hanging off the edge of the bed, and her knees caged his hips in. Her heavy skirts phased through him, and Loki stared up at the beautiful creation on top of him, wanting to watch whatever she was going to do, but wanting to feel it so much more. He closed his eyes.

 “Fu-uuck,” he grit out. Keshaara’s hands were on him again. One of the constructs pulled his head up into her lap, cradling him there, stroking his hair, tracing the King’s Crown on his forehead hidden by his current skin. Another pulled his left arm to the side, so she could suckle his fingers, and then drag them down her naked, wet form. The one residing in his lap rocked herself against him, grinding herself down against his very erect cock. Which left – “Mmmnf.”

 The last one sat at his other side, and bent over so she could kiss him deeply again. He kissed her back, using his only free hand to reach up and caress her throat. The one with his left hand, who was directing his hand’s movements, pushed his hands lower and lower down her body, until he could feel the coarse hair over her sex, and without much ado, he plunged his long fingers into her sopping cunt. There was no resistance, and he could feel every last contraction of her muscles around his fingers. He started pumping his fingers in and out and in and out, and at the same time kissed her, and at the same time, she was grinding against him and playing with his hair.

 He craved to look at what was going on as he thumbed Keshaara’s clit, and felt her seize, clenching around his fingers. He peeked, cracking an eye open to look at her. All sensation faded again, which as absolutely maddening, but he could _see_ the glistening fluids dripping down his hand, as he kept thrusting his fingers into the Keshaara of the baths. Her scars stood out in stark relief as she flushed, and she threw her head back in a soundless cry. Loki could hardly bear the sight, and if the Keshaara of Winterhold was not mere inches from his face, he would have tried to pull that Keshaara closer to him.

 None of them had stopped moving, and as he weighed his options, he noted the Aesir-Keshaara was tugging ineffectively at his pants. He nodded and closed his eyes again. His lap-sitter slid off of him, tugging his boots off of his feet, and pulling his pants from his hips in short order. The air was cool against his heated flesh, but he was not allowed much time to contemplate that. Winterhold-Keshaara pressed her mouth hungrily to his, and even as his left hand kept up his previous pace into and out of baths-Keshaara, the Winterhold-Keshaara guided his hand to help her undo the buttons and clasps of the mage-robes she wore. Vampire-Keshaara kept her hands in his hair, gently rubbing his scalp and playing with his hair. Aesir-Keshaara, not to be outdone, slid her mouth up and over the head of his cock.

 The suddenness of it made him jerk, his hips snapping up. The Keshaara with her mouth around him took it in stride, swallowing him down to the root as her tongue flicked and laved his flesh. He moaned again, and Winterhold-Keshaara, squirming out of her clothing, swallowed that sound into her mouth, her tongue mimicking what Aesir-Keshaara was doing across his cock. It was almost too much stimulation, to have his fingers inside her as her mouth was on his cock as her mouth was on his mouth, as her hands were playing with his hair.

 Oh, none of it stopped. As long as he kept his eyes closed, he could feel everything. Her tongues, _Norns_ , her cunt, her every movement, he could feel all of them. Winterhold-Keshaara was naked by now, and somehow, with an artful twist that Loki could feel, but not see, lest the sensations fade, she straddled his chest, her leg hooking underneath his left arm so as to not keep him from continuing to stroke baths-Keshaara’s cunt with his fingers. Someone’s hand reached back to pull his head up, and he found his face buried in the crux of Winterhold-Keshaara’s legs. He could smell her arousal, and it was clear that he was expected to –

 Norns, when he opened his mouth and laved the lips of her cunt with his tongue, he swore he could taste his cum mixed in with her fluids. The sensory overload made his toes curl. He did not want to stop feeling her on his mouth, wrapped around his fingers, her mouth on his cock, her fingers buried in his hair. But he wanted to see her. He wanted to be able to see her, at the very least. But when he even cracked open his eyes, all sensation stopped abruptly, and the Keshaaras, though still clearly silently enjoying everything he was doing, looked to him with grins. He thrust his tongue deep into Winterhold-Keshaara’s cunt, and even if he could not feel anything, the way she jerked into him made him confident that he could manage this on the real one.

 Loki watched her hips roll, wishing he could feel everything and still see her. He looked up her body, delighting in the way he could watch the construct’s breasts bounce and move as she tried to fuck his mouth. The one who cradled his head in her lap leaned in to latch her mouth around her counterpart’s dusky, pebbled nipple, and Loki screwed his eyes shut because it was too much, and all at once, the feelings returned. Keshaara was fucking impaling her mouth and throat on his cock, slurping and sucking like she could never fit enough of him into her mouth, and whenever there was the barest amount of his cock exposed to the air, her fingers danced across the flesh. Keshaara was fucking impaling herself on his fingers, fucking him ferociously, desperately clinging to his arm, digging her fingers into his muscles to try and steady herself as her orgasms shook her. Keshaara was fucking his face, demanding every last moment of his attention, and he gave it gladly, opening his mouth side and licking, sucking and flicking anything he could. His right arm wrapped around her, pulling her closer into him so he could taste more of her.

 He closed his eyes all the tighter, desperate not to lose the touch and not trusting himself not to open his eyes. He needed to feel this, he needed to have this because this sensation was scorching him from the inside out. He could not gasp out her name, not when he could barely draw breath.

 “So this is where you went to.”

 His eyes snapped open, and all sensation stopped again. Loki sat up on the bed, going completely through the Keshaara who he had been feasting on, looking to the intruder.

 It was Keshaara. Really her. He could feel her presence, even from across the room. His breath caught and his cock jumped expectantly.

 “And that is what the spell was for? You meant to have me in such a state...I hardly feel sorry for you at all, Loki.”

 She walked towards him, her hips swaying more than they usually did when she walked…or perhaps that was just the corset that was making it look that way. She waved the spell away, and he felt it uncurl from about his body. He looked down and was more than surprised to see cum painting his stomach, and his hands that he could have sworn were otherwise occupied were decorated similarly. His fingers were wet, and he could taste his own cum on his tongue.

 That was _quite_ the spell, then.

 “Do you even know how many times you came?”

 Loki shuddered.

“I’ll take that as a no then. Do you know how long I stood there and watched you? You had your hand fisted around your cock and you were chanting my name – when you weren’t cramming your fingers down your mouth, at least.”

“There was no way-”

 “Oh but there is. Your little spell was quite the thing.”

 She pushed him back down onto the bed, standing over him. There was a smirk on her face as she knelt next to the bed and traced her fingers through the puddle of cum on his stomach. Keshaara dipped her head and pressed her tongue into the mess Loki had made. He growled a warning at her, a hissed curse, but she did not stop. When he reached for the back of her head to pull her up to kiss him, she batted his hand away and slurped up every last drop of cum on his stomach. His muscles jumped and he panted, thrusting his hips up. His cock hit the metal of her choker, and with a chuckle, Keshaara dipped her head down lower and took him back into her mouth. Like the construct had done, she made her enjoyment of having his cock in her throat known, sucking him deep into her mouth and moaning.

 Loki fisted the sheets of his bed in his hands, thrusting weakly up into her. He was so sensitive, more than he had thought he should have been, but he had cum more than he had wanted to already, and she seemed intent upon pulling more out of him. He could feel his next orgasm building, low in his stomach. His back arched, his chin jutted upwards, and to his shame, the neediest sound spilled from his lips as he came, long and hard, deep into her mouth. He felt her throat constrict around him as she swallowed every last drop out of him.

 He was panting when she leaned up over him, and whined pitifully when she wrapped her hand around his softened cock. Her eyes sparkled like mage-fire, and there was a wicked grin on her face. One he recognized as mirroring his.

 “That’s only six, Loki.”

 “Keshaara, please, that is _hardly_ fair.”

 “I will remind you I took a sword through my gut for you. I nearly lost my hand for you. I faced fifteen enemies without axe or shield for you. I killed for you, and only you. I think you can manage being brought to orgasm as many times as I nearly died.”

 Loki’s head dropped back, and Keshaara flicked her clothing off of her. She was suddenly as naked as he was and climbing atop him, straddling his hips. Gently, she pulled him up, until he was sitting upright. Keshaara stared down at him for a moment, kissing him softly.

 “Loki, I trust you,” she whispered into his mouth, her voice small.

 He drew away from her, brows furrowed. What was she doing? He remembered her saying those same words before, but they had not been directed at him. No one trusted him, no one said that and meant it, but there were no lies on her tongue, none that he could taste even as he tasted her flesh.

 “I _trust_ you, Loki. If **this** is not what you want, I understand. I just…don’t do that to me again. Please. I trust you. I do.”

 His heart nearly stopped, and he was responding before he could think better of it.

 “No, Keshaara. Never again. I-I’m sorry. Keshaara, I’m sorry.”

 She smiled dreamily, and leaned into him, kissing him back down onto the bed. Loki wrapped an arm around her waist and turned them both, laying her down on his bed. He had to take a moment to look at her. She had kept her jewelry on, and she looked absolutely stunning. She always did though. Loki pulled her close to him, burying his face down in her neck, breathing deeply. Her hands traced down his back, and he groaned her name.

 When he entered her again, he moved slowly, languidly. He savored her every sweet cry, and every small movement she made with him. Somehow, he found her hand and instead of pinning it to the bed, he held it, lacing his fingers with hers. He did not move his head from the crook of her neck, and breathed her scent all the way into the deepest part of him. There was something different this time. With her. With them. He did not care, not as he rolled his hips and felt her breath rustle his hair. He did not care as she sighed his name and arched her back into him, he did not care as she kissed he shoulder and ran her hands down his back without scratching him once, he did not care.

 Their releases crashed upon them simultaneously, and Loki hissed her name one last time. For precious few moments, he held her close, pressing his body to hers to try and absorb just a little bit more of her heat into his body.

 “Kesh,” he started, as he rolled off of her. She stood, and turned to him, naked and glorious. “Kesh…”

 She lifted a brow at him, and his question died in his throat. She smiled and shook her head, knowing that there was nothing else he had to say to her. 

 “Good night, Loki. I will see you sometime tomorrow, I am sure. Perhaps let me know who I am facing before I get dressed, so I know what to wear and how to prepare. Pleasant dreams, my Prince.”

 The flick of her foot was almost casual, but the gown she had so easily discarded flew back to her, and her sex-mussed hair straightened back into some semblance of order. She did not look back to him as she walked calmly out of his room, he only watched and she left, leaving Loki naked…

 …and alone.


	17. Elska

The Tale of the Dragonborn

The Tale of the Jotun Prince

* * *

 

 

Keshaara walked back to her room on her own, feeling stifled and closed-in by her clothing. The thrill of…well whatever had just happened with her and Loki made her blood sing glorious exultations. She knew she was smiling, and she knew it was a smile that was genuine and brilliant, and she really did not care to know why it was hurting the corners of her mouth. She did not want to think about why her heart was beating fast, because there was nothing she could do to calm it, or understand it.

 It is what it was, and that was all there was to it.

 She pulled at the cuffs on her wrists, trying to let air pass over her overly warmed flesh. Keshaara was so intent upon her quest to cool off that she nearly missed Fandral standing by her door, until he cleared his throat and stepped forward.

 Almost guiltily, she took her hands away from their task, clasping them behind her back and turning to address him.

 “Good evening, sir Fandral.”

 “And to you, fair Keshaara. Your guards would not allow me access into your rooms, else I would have been waiting inside for you.”

 Keshaara’s eyes narrowed.

 “Is it proper, then, for a man to invite himself into a woman’s rooms like that in Asgard? If this was any of my homes, and you had been so brash as to allow yourself access, I would have had every right to kill you.”

 Fandral blanched, taking a step back from her. She had spoken with ferocity, because her territory – her rooms – her place – _her_ home had nearly been infringed upon.

 “The public room within your rooms are open to guests.”

 “Unless I had them closed. Sir guards, who is allowed access to this room?”

 “Yourself, Dόmhildr, and the Prince Loki, my Thane.”

 Keshaara snapped her head back to Fandral.

 “That would make that room not open to the public, would it not?”

 “Yes, my Thane.”

 “Thank you, sir guard – in the morning, you may allow the workers sent by the High Queen Frigga to enter. They are bringing items of import to me. Fandral, do not presume you have access to my rooms. Why are you here?”

 Fandral stumbled over his words for a moment, but managed to find his tongue.

 “I merely wished to see you, and wish you a good evening, my lady fair.”

 “Then good evening, sir Fandral. Would you care to come in and talk a while, or was that your attempt to bed me?”

 She had the pleasure of watching his skin flush.

 “N-no, not at all, Keshaara. I was just – I thought – I, uh, good night.”

 Fandral fled, though she was certain he would never use such terms to describe how he positively scuttled away from her. Keshaara smirked at his back, nodded to her two guards, who smiled at her, and entered her rooms. Dόmhildr was already asleep, Keshaara surmised, because the rooms were dark and she heard the soft sounds of snoring coming from the room she knew Dόmhildr slept in.

 Keshaara meandered towards her own room, stripping her jewelry off of her body and tossing it carelessly to the floor. She kicked her shoes off, pulled the faux armor, and let her dress trail freely behind her. Keshaara reached back to undo the laces of her corset, and after fumbling with them for a minute, she sighed and just magicked the clothing off of her, walking the rest of the way to her bedroom completely naked.

 She pushed the door open with a sigh, and kicked it shut behind her.

 “Kesh,” Loki purred at her, lounging spectacularly on her bed, ankles crossed and arms spread wide.

 “Uh?” she managed.

 “You left before I could ask you to stay the night. I would rather not have you gone so quickly.”

 “I thought that would be improper. It seems this sort of relationship is…not well taken to.”

 She did not fidget beneath his emerald gaze. She walked calmly towards her bed, towards Loki, who only made her bed look that much more attractive. Her sheets (soft as sin, and a rather lovely shade of purple) accentuated everything about him, and made his eyes nearly glow.

 “It is entirely allowed. It merely has to be secret.”

 Keshaara paused before sliding into her bed, looking at Loki, who had thrown on some soft green linen trousers in between her room and his. She could see the planes of his muscles, even in the dim light afforded by the moon and stars outside. He was not at all built like her late husband, but she had known that already. He was lean and taut, long and sinuous, built more like a cat than a wolf.

 “Then it is pertinent knowledge that Frigga will be visiting in the morning. She would perhaps not want to see her son in bed with a lowly Champion.”

 Loki frowned, and insistently patted the spot next to him on the bed.

 “The Queen has better things to worry about than the dalliances of someone like me. Come here.”

 Keshaara smiled softly, and acquiesced. She lay down next to him, and after a moment, curled into him, slinging a leg over his, and wrapped an arm around his waist. Loki froze for just the barest second before pulling her closer, cradling her with both arms. He smoothed her hair with one hand and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

 He pretended not to hear her happy sigh, and with a twist of his hand, he brought blankets up to cover them. Keshaara wiggled closer to him, not minding her state of complete undress, resting her head on his chest.

 “Why did you come, Loki?”

 Her voice was small, muffled by the blankets she pulled up underneath her chin.

 “Because I trust you Kesh,” was his only reply.

 Keshaara hummed her response, pulled him tight to her. Sleep stole upon her, soft and quiet, and she feared nothing in the night’s slumbering.

 The sound of knocking drew her halfway out of sleep. Keshaara groaned loudly, fumbled for a pillow, and threw it at the door.

 “Keshaara, Frigga has sent your books,” Dόmhildr said, and Keshaara heard the door creak open.

 Keshaara groaned again and pulled the blankets up over her head.

 “My lady, where should we put them?”

 A single hand wormed its way out from underneath the blankets and made a vague wiggling gesture, indicating the whole of the room. There was a muttered string of words in her native tongue, clearly indicating general levels of frustration, and then the hand vanished, and Keshaara burrowed deeper into the blankets. She was warm, and comfortable, and she did not give a rip that she was naked and there were other people in her room. She heard Dόmhildr moving around the room, straightening things before the other people came in. There were rustling sounds, whispered conversations, and Keshaara resisted the urge to growl.

 It was early, dammit, and she wanted a few more minutes to spend with Lo-

 “Niid – _Krojunsekrah_ , nust los hest nu,” she mumbled, reaching for where Loki had been. Her hand only met a chilled spot on the bed. 

She blinked and woke herself up.

“Krojunse- _oh_.”

 She stilled her tongue, knowing she had perhaps said too much, but the looks she got from the few people in her room let her know no one understood Dov. Small blessings. She felt the gentle slide of the sheets across her still-bare chest, and was careful to wrap her bedsheets about her torso so as to not be improper towards the people in the room. However, when she moved her legs, she felt fabric around her hips and legs that was not the sheets. She had somehow gained trousers in the middle of the night.

 And without looking, she was fairly confident that the trousers would be pale green. Her gut clenched and she bit her tongue to keep her hissed curse from spilling from between her lips. She did not want to know now Loki had managed to do what he did, but the fact remains that he did, in fact, do it.

 It was a few long minutes before the workers cleared out, leaving Keshaara alone in her bedroom again. She slid out of bed then, topless, but indeed wearing pale green pants. She rubbed her hands down the fabric, a small smile twisting her lips. It was…it made her feel something interesting to see herself wearing his clothing. His pants fit her poorly, nearly sliding off her hips as she walked. Keshaara did not find herself trying to fix the problem, luxuriating in the trousers for many long minutes as she wandered towards the balcony, stretching the kinks out of her back.

 The door to her bedroom was closed, so when she heard steps from behind her, she turned quickly, prepared to fight whatever intruder had found their way into her quarters.

 Loki grinned at her, his gaze dipping down to her hips, where his pants were just barely managing to stay on.

 “I must say, green looks good on you.”

 “So you have said before, my Prince. Should you not be elsewhere? Certainly the Prince is needed somewhere else in the castle.”

 “There is nowhere better to be than here, Keshaara. You should wear green more often.”

 Keshaara laughed, rolling her eyes at Loki’s insistence. His eyes were practically fixated on his trousers, and when she turned away, she could feel his eyes dip down across her legs.

 “My husband used to say the same thing whenever I wore his furs. I think you just like seeing me wear your clothing, Loki.”

 She had said it in jest, meaning it to be a joke, a reminder of something she had lost, but when she heard him suck air in through clenched teeth, Keshaara turned back to him, her laughter dying in her throat. For a single moment, they regarded each other, each weighing the other’s reaction. And then – Loki's eyes narrowed, he wreathed himself in magic and vanished, leaving Keshaara standing alone in her room, confused, and suddenly chilled.

 Keshaara’s left hand clenched, and then relaxed, her fingers flaring out, each in turn. It was an old habit, borne of the need to stretch her hand after wielding magic in it for hours. Her left hand was her magic hand, her right, her axe-hand. Her left hand was the one that would ache, and sometimes her entire arm would feel the bone-deep pain of overusing magicka. It was one of the many things she kept at bay with a constant flow of high-level magic. She was, after all, the Archmage. She could handle knitting herself back together. She had, and would continue to handle that.

 But moments…like this, moments where she was unsure of herself, the old phantom pains would return, and she would remember that her hands were not whole, that her body was riddled with long-forgotten wounds, that she was blind, that she limped so severely she needed a complex brace and a stave to manage even the shallowest steps. She would remember that she was broken, and held together with spells she had taken years to perfect – spells that were carved into her very bones, but fueled by huge amounts of magicka.

 She preferred to forget all of that, obviously. It pained her, now, to realize how much she relied on external forces to remain as she had been. The Daedra had cursed her with life unending, but not health everlasting. She had been content to bask in the aftermath of battle in the baths, uncaring and unconcerned with what was going on around her, and within her. Since then, since coming to Asgard, really, she had been pretending everything was fine.

 Keshaara grunted as she began her morning stretches.

 Nothing was fine.

 Her morning stretches were really just a short series of lunges, backbends and twists to try and get all of her joints to pop, snap, and crack to afford her her full range of motion again. She woke up stiff more often than not, and that stiffness could be deadly. Loki had announced no other challengers, and that was nothing but small comforts. She still had much to do with her day.

 There came a knock on her bedroom door, as she was mid-lunge. Bending backwards over her legs, she looked to the sound and chirruped a too-happy sounding “Come in!” to whoever was knocking. Almost too-late she remembered that she was still topless, and rushed to her bedside to grab a (pale green and emerald-hemmed, divines curse it) shirt and pull it over her head.

 Dómhildr entered the room, shutting the door neatly behind her.

 “Keshaara, the materials you requested have arrived. The Queen Frigga has also given you an assortment of trinkets and baubles to use as passages throughout the palace grounds, most notably for the stables and for the blacksmith’s workshop. Loki has accepted no challenges today, and it seems as if none will be forthcoming, after your finishing display last evening. If anything else, I believe the next challenges would be consigned to being off the field of battle.”

 Keshaara nodded, watching Dómhildr move about the room, adjusting small things that were out of place.

 “You have also been gifted clothing to wear, outside of the formal attire for the feasts, should you choose to wear them. There is precious little in the way of jewelry, but I do not recall you wearing overmany trinkets when you are not battling.”

 Both women smiled, Keshaara more broadly than Dómhildr, who almost looked apprehensive, as if awaiting Keshaara’s reaction to the slight jibe at her habitual dressage.

 “Just so, Dómhildr. I prefer to look better when battling foes, not mutton.”

 Dómhildr visibly brightened at that, though she still seemed preoccupied with something.   
  
“Keshaara, if you do not mind me asking, where did you get those clothes? They look passing similar to, ah…”

 “Loki’s? Yes, no. They are mine own, from home, but I do confess they still look very similar to what Loki has worn and did wear, I’m sure. Why, though? Would it be so odd for my Prince to choose to outfit me in his own colors?”

 Dómhildr said nothing, but the way her mouth twisted, it seemed as if there was, indeed, something wrong with it. Keshaara did not care too much – the proclivities and sensibilities of the Asgardians were not her concern. She was not going to wear his clothing outside the room, and with his reaction to what she had said, Keshaara doubted she would be able to come back to her room after today and still see his clothing anyway. Something had set Loki off, and while she was, in general, a curious person, she was not so curious as to attempt to answer this particular conundrum.

 “Will you be needing assistance dressing this morning, Keshaara?”

 “No, I have this well under control. What all was delivered as I rested?”

 “It looks like raw wood, paints, some metals of some sort, and about three book cases full of history, law and magic books pertaining to the Nine Realms. I take it you requested these things?”

 “High Queen Frigga told me I was able to request such things as victor-prizes, but that I could not ask for arms or armament. I plan to fix that today, as it were, as well as carry out some remodeling. I do not yet grow sick for the comforts of the places I once lived, but I would rather not fall ill for those things. I would take it that you would prefer your room to remain as it is?”

 “They are your rooms, my Thane,” Dómhildr replied meekly.

 “And you live here as well, good housecarl. Your comfort is important to me as well. Do you wish your rooms to be redone, or not?”

 “I like them as they are, for now.”

 Keshaara nodded. “Very good then. Will you be remaining in the rooms while I work? I will be done with the remodeling within a few hours, if all the materials are present, and I’ll probably be starting in my bedroom.”

 Dómhildr smiled.

 “No, I will not be here for the remainder of the day. I do have other things to do with my life, things that have been neglected as of late, thanks to the recent upheavals.”

 “Go with the Divines then, Dómhildr. I hope your return home will not be too jarring to your senses.”

 Dómhildr bowed and left the room. Keshaara followed after her, stretching her arms over her head. It was time to get to work, after all.


	18. Heima

The Tale of the Dragonborn

The Tale of the Jotun Prince

* * *

 

 

Keshaara worked quickly. She had built houses before, and remodeled them to suit her tastes as needed. A single room, no matter how much larger than her home was not anything she could be concerned with. It was just one room, and after she had pulled her few scant pieces of furniture away from the walls, and taken stock of her supplies. It was not as much as she could have hoped for, and there would be things that she could not do, but it was important that she try as best as possible to emulate home here.

 (she already knew she would never see Skyrim again)

 Without looking to see if there was anyone around to watch her, she bent to tend to the wood. For the next few hours, she worked, making sure she cut and measured everything appropriately, and began the arduous task of replacing the gilded…everything, with the warmth and comfort of varnished and carved and painted wood. It took her more than a few moments to get everything looking how she wanted, but she had magic, and construction had never been difficult in Skyrim. Goodness, she had built Lakeview in but a day after she had acquired all the raw material.

 The unfamiliar room slowly metamorphosed into the warmth of what could have once been home. She still needed fur, leather and metal. She needed the last accoutrements – an enchanting table, magical baubles to hang from the windows, anything and everything her heart needed to soothe the growing sensation of unease that blossomed whenever she stood too long in the glittering palace.

 Because not even the Blue Palace had been so sumptuous. There was no place to rest one’s eyes. Everything was ornate, everything was precise and perfect and there was not a single place that Keshaara could look to and see something familiar. She would carve out a place for herself.

 So, as quickly as she could work, the glitter was peeled away, allowing the natural wood to shine and shimmer on its own. The sweeping arches gave way to curling, braided, carvings. Keshaara had, after all, wanted to be a jewelcrafter before she was saddled with a different fate. Aesthetics were supremely important to her, but apparently the Aesir here did not understand the significance of negative space, of what you do not need to put in, the absences that make the eye more appreciative of what was there.

 Or if they did, their classification of negative space was classically flawed.

 Keshaara’s rooms quickly took on the aspects and affectations of what she had been accustomed to in Skyrim. She only opened the main doors to her rooms to push out the old furniture. She rebuilt everything that she did not like, or could not alter in a pleasing way. The guards looked at her oddly whenever she pushed another piece of furniture away, but Keshaara rather did not care. There was still much to do.

 When her room looked some semblance of Nord, and she was running low on wood, and completely in need of iron and steel for various fittings she needed, Keshaara decided she should change her clothing into something she could wear out into Asgard. She had a need for a good stretch of the legs anyway.

 After a brief moment of rummaging through the morass of clothing that had been gifted to her, Keshaara settled on a pair of butter-soft mahogany leather trousers, embellished with embossed patterns that she could not entirely make out. But as soon as Keshaara had them on, she decided she liked the pattern on her. There were thin threads of gold stitched down the seams, embroidered into patterns that escaped her gaze, but that she very much enjoyed. Whoever had made the pants had a perfect eye for her body, because they fit her perfectly.

 Keshaara rummaged a bit longer and managed to find a pale cream-colored blouse to wear over her undergarments. She pulled it on over her head, not minding that it had a deep, plunging neckline that exposed her sternum to the world. The blouse was simple, loose-fitting, long-sleeved, with but a few stitches of color at the neckline and cuffs. Simple, elegant, easy to move in, and most importantly, it was neither dress nor armor, so Keshaara loved it.

 She spent a few minutes looking at herself in the mirror, appreciating the clothing (she had found boots too! Nice boots that did not pinch her toes or weight twenty pounds and came to the middle of her calf) but finding her lack of appropriate preening of her hair and face to be disorienting. Keshaara reached for her pouch, pleased to find that it would affix neatly to her trousers, and pulled her small glass phial of paint from its depths. With practiced ease, she traced the high curve of her cheekbone with the paint, leaving a deep ochre line across her face. As she was not on a battle-path, she left the paint as just a single line beneath each eye, instead of pulling the paint down into the dagger-marks she had worn in Skyrim.

 She brushed her hair with the fine-toothed silver comb Frigga had given her, straightening out the knots that had come from not properly unbraiding her hair before sweeping her hair back into the adventuring braid she preferred, not bothering to coil it at the nape of her neck as she had also grown accustomed to in her years as grandmother to the High Queen. No, she was no one of particular import here, and claiming Championship seemed to be a trite trifling. A simple braid, a moderately fancy bauble so as not to be considered servile, because at this stage in her life, Keshaara was never to be mistaken for a servant of those she was not beholden to, and she was done.

 The woman who looked back at her was still her, Keshaara knew. Just…she had not seen herself like this in many years.

 No matter.

 There were things to do, and places to wander. She had much to see, and hopefully, with the small pouch of money Frigga had given her, along with everything else, she could buy the final few items she needed for her home to be made complete. Maybe she could pick up some trinkets, too.

 So with a smile on her face, Keshaara exited her palacial room, greeted her guards jovially, and then quickly walked towards the exit to the palace.

 If she got lost, she could find the palace, if she was confused, she would ask for help, but most of all, Keshaara just wanted a day to not have to worry about anything other than doing what she desired to do. This place was new. This place was more painfully new than any city in Skyrim had ever been, and if she was going to feel comfortable, she needed to explore.

 The sky greeted her, and it was blue.

 The glittering city was gold, but it sounded hollow silver…Keshaara smiled broadly and struck out.

 It took her a while to reach a place bustling with people. Aesir, as Loki had sneered their name to be. They look rather like Nords to her, and that was all well and good. She did miss the sight of the other races of Skyrim, though. A Khajiit would have been a welcome sight, an Argonian, hell, even one of the Mer – but if she allowed her mind to back off the thought of being in such a foreign place with no one but Loki as someone she knew even close to moderately well.

 Keshaara shook her head and went about the tasks she needed done. First, she found the markets, and with a smile, began wandering through the aisles and corridors. The vendors did not call to her, and no one seemed to give a skeever’s ass if she was there or not. She was one of many. Keshaara enjoyed the anonymity, walking hither and thither as she looked for what she wanted.

 This was no smithy-shopplace for sure. Warmaidens was long removed from here, and long defunct, regardless. Keshaara ignored the pang of sickness that struck at her. That was the past. It was the past and there was nothing she could do about it.

 She caught the scent of juniper on the air, and it tickled her memories with the sense of the familiar.

 Keshaara turned to see if she could catch where the smell came from. It…entranced her. For a moment, she thought she saw a raven-haired man, with glittering green eyes. _Loki_.

 But he was gone. Or had he even ever been there?

 She could not tell. It was no matter. The scent of flowers drew her next, and she wandered to the booth, trying to allay herself with the thought that the smell could have come from there, despite it being downwind from her and had no fresh juniper on display. Regardless, Keshaara stopped at the shop. Flowers unlike anything she had ever seen were hanging from the rafters of the booth, and fragrant herbs and grasses layered the table.

 Keshaara’s confusion was evidently apparent, as the young shopkeeper girl stood up out of her seat and approached her.

 “Hello, miss. May I help you?”

 “Hello, fair shopkeep. I am unfamiliar with these plants. Would you mind taking me through what their attributes and meanings are? I have a deep love for plants and flowers, and find my new quarters to be severely lacking in this regard.”

 The shopkeeper practically beamed at her.

 “It is not often that I have customers that ask to know the language of my flowers. A kind question, and one I am more than happy to talk with you about.”

 And so, that was how it came to pass that Keshaara engaged in a spirited and well-meaning conversation about the plants and flora of Asgard. Keshaara was wholly engrossed in the conversation, talking animatedly and questioning carefully. The shopkeeper was just as involved in the conversation, bringing Keshaara flowers to smell, petals and leaves to taste, and talking just as enthusiastically about her flowers.

 Keshaara learned much in that conversation, and when she finally asked if there was any juniper, not trusting that such a plant would exist in places so alien to her. After a few minutes of translating the differences in the plants that had been shown to her, the smell and taste of juniper, the girl smiled at her and pulled a small sprig of juniper from beneath the table she had set up.

 “We have this, and I think this fits the plant you are describing, my lady. This is the only spring I have, and it is important that I keep it here for now. I can go out and cut some for you, if you would like? I would have it here, or I could bring it to your chambers in the palace, Championess Keshaara.”

 Keshaara blinked quickly.

 “Uhm. Yes that would work. May I also have a few of these flowers as well? I like their smell and they would look well in my quarters. How-?”

 “You are new here, and you are not exactly inconspicuous. I suppose others who are not in the business of being able to remember things seen only once would have not have noticed, but your eyes are very distinctive, even here.”

 The woman had reached up to gesture to Keshaara’s eyes, which had garnered a small grin from them both.

 “Well then, I commend you. Your kind words despite who I champion gives me hope that perhaps maybe I won’t be mutilated upon being recognized by someone else.”

 “Hatred of the man you champion runs deep. His hands hold the blood of thousands, both here in Asgard, on Jotunheim, and in Midgard. He is angry and spiteful, and his use of magic is-”

 “Yes, an abomination and whatever else it is said when a man dares practice magic in Asgard, I am familiar, at least with that much of it. No one can explain why magic is considered to be solely the realm of women to me, nor do I particularly care to know. I find that part of this place to be ridiculous.”

 Keshaara’s tone was flippant, and she waved her hand to dismiss the errant thoughts.

 “That is not all. He is a powerful sorcerer, and uses his magic to change his shape, betimes,” the lady whispered, leaning close into Keshaara as if this was some great secret.

 “As do I,” Keshaara whispered back.

 “No, he is not _berserkir_ like you. He changes his true shape, taking the skin of others and wearing it. The rumors say he has even taken the form of women before, and lain with men.”

 The conspiratorial tones told Keshaara much – this was a common rumor, but it was one that they dare not speak too loudly this close to the castle.

 “Is it so abhorrent then, to lay with a man as a woman?”

 “He is a man, and _that_ is abhorrent.”

 Keshaara hummed a response that was neither positive nor negative, just a response.

 “Regardless, I am his Champion. When will the flowers be delievered?”

 “By tomorrow morn, for sure.”

 “Wonderful. And what is the price for such things?”

 The price was named, and then haggled and re-named, and by the end of it, Keshaara was only a few coins lighter in her purse with an agreement that she be brought sprigs of fresh juniper every other day.

 Juniper was, after all, her favorite scent. It had been ever since the first time one of her fathers had brought a small branch of it and wove it into her child-braids. The money was no concern when it came to finding small things that would make her feel better. She said her goodbyes to the flower-woman, and walked on.

 She had remarkably few conversations with others as she carried on, picking up bolts of fabric and leather, buying nearly the entire stock of one very lucky furrier, and finally, finding the blacksmith, and bartering her last coins for scrap pieces of iron that she quickly fashioned into the various nails, hinges and fittings she needed to finish renovations on her room. After…borrowing some unwatched silver, she quickly fashioned the metal into an amulet she had forgotten at home, and strung it onto a similarly borrowed chain. The new amulet was slipped over her head, the chain hanging low, hiding her new jewelry from sight. She would place the appropriate enchantment on it later.

 The sun was still high in the sky by the time she was finished shopping, and with a pouch that was substantially heavier than when she had first set out. Keshaara had much to work on, and she was reasonably sure that if she could scrounge up some additional money she could have a room worthy of a Dovahkiin again.

 Keshaara worked her way back to the palace, keeping her head down and putting one foot in front of the other in arrhythmic synchronization. She hummed an old bar-song under her breath, jogging up stairs quickly, and darting around corners, to the consternation of the guards who would always seem to take a heartbeat too long in recognizing Loki’s Champion, readying weapons before realizing who they leveled their spears at.

 Her room was still guarded, as ever, and she waved happily at the two men. They offered her a matched pair of smiles as she swept past them into her room. The floors were a mess, clothing was strewn everywhere, and everything was precisely as she left it. The ceilings and walls were perfect, save for a few spots that needed additional detailing in the carvings, the floors would soon be covered and the new curtains would go up. Everything would be what she wanted it to be.

 She sighed and unloaded her bag, letting its contents spill all over the floor at her feet. There were furs and books and jewels and fabric and all sorts of odds and ends that she had bought for herself. It would take her but a few hours to get all of this in order and clean her rooms spotless. She started back in her bedroom, stripping the curtains from the tall windows with a flourish that did not rip the fine, airy material that had been gifted to her as some manner of privacy screen. Keshaara was not _not_ fond of the things, but she found them rather useless for what she liked.

 Sure, the fine sheer gauze looked beautiful when there was a breeze, and seemed highly elegant and refined, but Keshaara liked her shades to be useful for more than just making her seem dramatic and enchanting. She liked the rough feel of wool over windows, the way it made rooms feel warm without being stifling, the way wool shut the entire world out and that when you fisted your hands in the fabric, trying to hold yourself up as your world was torn out from you, the wool did not give, but remained firm and rough in your palm.

 So the woolen drapes went up. They were of a finer material than she had ever bothered with in Skyrim, and were a deep, rich purple color (she found that she enjoyed the shades of purple here in Asgard – they made a good contrast to the gold), flecked with strands of silver-white. She had strayed…and perhaps bought silver thread for a project she had in mind for later, but for the moment, she really only wanted to have everything in the beginnings of order so she could decide what was really needed.

 Goodness knows she did not want to overdecorate.

 The books were all placed in their shelves, arranged by her interest in the various titles for the moment. After she had read all of them, she could find a more appropriate order for things.

 The old doors were gently removed from the hinges, and then the hinges were removed for the wrought-iron hinges to be put in their place, and then new doors were put into place over the rooms where she had jurisdiction.

 She swept the floors, moving the fabric and clothing she still had to organize around the room as she cleaned putting the small objects she had bought away. The room brightened as she worked, warming her from the inside out as it stopped looking so much like Asgard and looked much more like some place she could maybe consider home. Keshaara held no aspirations that this would be her permanent home, and she would rather not think about what happened as soon as Loki no longer needed her, but she was at least familiar with how to make this strange place like home.

 She hung her second set woolen curtains in the main entry way, though these ones were far less heavy, and pale green, like the clothing she had worn upon waking that morning, and the clothing that had though these ones were far less heavy, and pale green, like the clothing she had worn upon waking that morning, - the clothing that _mysteriously_ vanished between then and now. She had chosen not to dwell overlong on that. Loki had reacted poorly to her wearing that, and had taken the appropriate measures, apparently.

 Almost as if he had been queued to enter, Loki swept into her rooms, his mouth open as if he was about to speak. But only a few steps in, his sure steps faltered and his mouth hung slack.

 “Hello, Loki. What brings you to my rooms?”

 He licked his lips absently, torn between looking at her, and looking around her much changed rooms. Keshaara watched him out of the corner of her eye as she went back to her previous task, rearranging the baubles she had been given on one of the nearby tables. She had a lot still on her mind, and cleaning, organizing and creating were her ways to clear her mind. She would practice in the training fields if she had known she had been given permission, but without that knowledge, and without the urge to demonstrate what she could do, Keshaara was still content to manage her rooms.

 “I wanted to speak with you,” he managed, his tongue dancing out again to taste the residue of his words on his lips. He was too graceful to fidget, but the way he shifted his body spoke volumes about how he felt.

 That was…mildly distracting. Keshaara’s own mouth suddenly felt rather dry, but she looked away.

 “So then, speak, my Prince.”

 His tongue nearly slid out of his mouth again, pushing against the back of his upper teeth, barely peeking out from between his lips. 

“Did…is Dόmhildr here?”

Momentarily surprised that Loki had known the name of her housecarl, Keshaara did not answer immediately. Loki walked towards her during her silence, reaching out to gently grasp her by the elbow.

“No, she is still out for the day, I believe. Do you require her for something?”

 Loki flung a hand behind him, his familiar green magic rushing the door. At the same time, he pulled her close to him, not in a manner that was uncomfortable, but surprisingly intimate. Keshaara lifted her chin to look up at him, her mouth slightly parted. She had a wonderful view as his mage-fire eyes darkened, and then dropped to her lips. His nostrils flared just the slightest bit, and he tipped his chin down.

 His fingers reached up to trace the curve of her face, gently, hesitantly. Keshaara stood still, allowing the touches, and not moving. He wrapped one arm around her waist, and stepped closer, as if the space they shared was still keeping them apart.

 An errant hair fell forward on her face, and Loki was quick to sweep it back, smoothing her hair with a press of his palm.

 Keshaara leaned into the soft touch, not entirely sure if she was reading the situation properly, but enjoying the soft attention regardless.

 “I do not require her. I had heard you were walking through the markets, and when I went to find you, I found nothing. So I returned here and found that you had been busy,” he said, looking away from her, back to the almost-finished room.

 “I found myself missing a home I cannot return to. Have I overstepped?”

 “ _NO_. No. You haven’t. This is…perfect, Keshaara.”

 She pulled back from him only slightly at his first ‘no’, but relaxed into Loki as he continued. A small smile was on her face, and a suffusing heat had started to grow in her chest.

 His hand caressed her face again, and Keshaara leaned fully into the touch, not bothering to disguise her pleased hum as his long fingers curled down her jaw to cradle her chin. When he turned her face back towards his, she leaned up into him to lay a gentle kiss on his mouth. It was Loki’s turn to nearly pull away in shock, and he was almost hesitant in how he returned the kiss, pulling his chin down, in and away from her at first, before relenting and returning the affection, his hand trailing back to cradle her head, and gently urge her closer to him so that he could deepen the kiss, his tongue flicking against the seam of her lips only once before she opened her mouth to his.

 Before they could go much further, before he could properly taste her, and before she could taste him, there was a knock at the door. Loki jumped, startled by the sudden intrusion into the intimate moment.

 Keshaara huffed her laugh, and pulled away, resting her chin on Loki’s shoulder. He did not release her from his grasp, bowing his head so that he could press a single, chaste kiss to the side of her neck.

 “I should go answer the door, my Prince.”

 It was with great reluctance that he let her go, and watched her go to the door. When Keshaara looked back over her shoulder, Loki was looking at her decorations, hands clasped behind his back, his fingers rubbing over one of the knuckles of his left hand. 


	19. Svar

The Tale of the Dragonborn

The Tale of the Jotun Prince

* * *

 

 

The person at the door announced themselves as one of the attendants to the Queen Frigga, and Keshaara was quick to block their view into her room. She was still uncertain what would be thought if the others knew that she and Loki were betimes intimately bound partners. It was certainly not proper for a Prince. Was she that invested in Asgardian customs? Not truly, but she would rather not cast any further aspirations on Loki. He deserved so much better.

 The conversation was brief, and by the end of it, another bag of coins was being pressed into her hand, along with a letter in an ornate envelope. Keshaara bobbed her head in a polite bow, and the servant left. Carefully, she closed the door, vanishing the money into the pouch still on her hip, and hesitantly opened the envelope. There was a short note inside, written in a tight flowing script that was not hard to read. The ink was glittering gold (of course), and was signed at the bottom with a series of marks she assumed to indicate Frigga’s name.

 The note was short, and made its point quite clearly. Keshaara’s stomach knotted at the words, and she crumpled the paper in her hands. Fire danced across her fingertips, consuming the paper before Loki could take it from her hands.

 “Your lady mother wishes to speak with me. I must be heading off now, it seems. It does not do well to keep royalty waiting, I have learned.”

 Keshaara was too preoccupied with the uncommon feeling of anxiety in her gut to see the way Loki’s shoulders stiffened, and his mouth drew down into a thin line. She walked briskly towards the clothing pile she had not gotten to just yet, pulling a deep brown tunic from the middle of the pile, and then putting it on as fast as she could. She quickly affixed a belt around her waist, not minding that that was probably not the preferred style of Asgard. It was how short tunics like this were worn in Skyrim, and Keshaara was growing tired of having to kowtow to Asgardian fashion customs when she had not been asked about anything.

 She coiled her braid at the base of her neck this time though, rummaging with one hand through the box of baubles to find the appropriate hair pins to keep her hair in place. Keshaara even grabbed a few of the silver ear cuffs she had brought from home, and slipped them onto her ears. It was a simple look, for sure, but Keshaara still felt comfortable in it, which was imperative to her at this point.

 Again, she missed how Loki looked at her, his eyes dancing across her body, and the barest of flushes that touched his high, beautiful cheekbones. She missed how his hands gripped tightly at each other, desperate to touch, but not daring to. She missed the way he bit his lip and made a short movement towards her, only to withdraw.

 “Do I look presentable, Loki? She is your mother, after all – I’m sure you know what manner of dress will not make me unseemly in her eyes. Are my illusions in place?”

 Keshaara looked to him then, and he had to stop to gather himself. She was clearly not Aesir. No, this was a Nord woman, like all the others who had been Skyrim, except completely different than them. This was a woman who carried herself with the power and grace of an Aesir, the intimidating presence of a Jotun, and wrapped in the very mortal confines of a Nord. No, this was Keshaara, _Thuri_ Dovahkiin. This was Keshaara, his Champion.

 “Your left eye is…pale,” he observed dryly. He had meant it as a jest but-

 “ _Shit_ ,” she hissed, reaching up to touch the ruined half of her face. “That is the hardest damn thing to fix.”

 For a few seconds, she struggled with the illusion, applying and reapplying magic to the wound to see if she could fix it, but knew instinctively that it wasn’t working.

 “I’m going to have to start all over, Daedra damn it all. I hope your mother does not mind the tardiness.”

 Loki made a noncommittal sound, curious as to what Keshaara meant.

 The Dovahkiin shivered, shaking her magic off of her, and all at once it was like the baths again, except she was clothed, and it looked as if there were more scars than he had originally seen. Hells, he could even see the fingerlings of tattoos on the backs of her hands. She _had_ been hiding something from him.

 “Keshaara what is that?” he hissed, reaching for her hands.

 She allowed him to grab her, and pull her back towards him as he traced the lines on her flesh.

 “Not something I want to talk about, really. It is irrelevant, you will not be seeing those again.”

 Still, she did not pull her hands away, not even as Loki brought them closer to his face to inspect the tattoos. He pushed her sleeves up, following the black ink as it curled around her body, dancing over pale scars that he had never seen before. Pale scars that were deliberately put there, straight lines tracing the perpendicular to her bones, thin and patterned with self-hate.

 “Kesh, what did you do to yourself?”

 “What I wanted done. Four hundred and fifty years is a long time, and four hundred and twenty years alone is hard on the mind. Making it hard on the body keeps the mind keen. I learned from the Mer. If you cannot count the passage of years, the passage will consume you.”

 Loki paused, and did not push her sleeves higher. Her hands tightened on his for but a moment, and he felt, more than he saw, the digits that were shortened by a blade long ago.

 “I…is it truly so long for your people?”

 “Nords live to mayhaps seventy, if they are lucky. An old Nord will see the dawn of their first century if they are a sorcerer without equal. Many Mer do not live to see their third century, though that is not always true. The Khajit and Argonians do not live nearly as long as Nords, or any of the other human races. I have outlived many…”

 Keshaara gently pulled her hands out of Loki’s grasp.

 “Asgardians live for centuries longer, I am sure. But four hundred and seventy three years is nearly unheard of. I am very old by the counting of my people and by the counting of my mind. It was necessary, but it was not for anyone else to see. I trust you will not tell the others.”

 Loki’s gut tightened at her words. She kept saying that she trusted him, and all that echoed in his head was what had happened at Lakeview, when she had made his armor. She trusted him, but she didn’t know why, she trusted him, but she knew she shouldn’t, she trusted him, but not enough to not lie to him. Keshaara did not even look at him, but pushed her sleeves down over her scars, closing her eyes.

 “I would never.”

 Keshaara did not say anything to that, merely gathered her magic around her and began the arduous task of re-applying the illusions and allowing the magic to surge back to where it needed to be. Loki could only watch as she rebuilt her illusions, and he watched carefully. He saw the ward-spells wrap around her, watched how they curled over her skin, laying gently on the ruined flesh, smoothing it with the spell – which explained why he could not differentiate between the two when she touched him. Her fingers were mimicked by the wards, and the shimmering spells wrapped the slightest bit further up her flesh than needed, to provide an anchor, and a smooth transition between the two. He was certain that there were other wards going up in places he could not see, covering scars in the case of being exposed.

 The colors came in next, painting her skin with the tones of flesh, starting with a base color that looked completely foreign to Keshaara – too pale, too flat, but with all the skill of the court painters, the stippling of freckles, of pores, of veins beneath the skin and the variance of color within flesh. Keshaara’s eye received the same treatment, colors layering one over the other as she brought her body back to what Loki was familiar with.

 Loki waited until he could no longer taste her magic in the air before he moved again, reaching for her hands. Keshaara did not pull away from him, and held very still as he ran his fingers over the magic-created extensions to her hands. There was no distinguishing between what was flesh and what was construct. To his senses, her hands were whole. He knew they were not, he knew that the joint he felt between his fingers was not there, that this was a finger she had nearly lost completely. He would have sworn on all oaths, if it had ever come to that and he had not seen her, that this was real. There was even the hint of a heartbeat beneath her skin.

 His breath caught in his throat. This was magic. True magic, magic that he had never been tempted to try on his own, content with the illusions he had made, magic that he had no need for, magic that made what he could do seem pale, and it was just in front of him, within his grasp. She had not used this magic for anything other than ensuring that others saw her as she needed to be seen for them. He knew that need, but he had not considered it…as she had.

 He lifted her hands to his lips, pressing gentle kiss to each of her finger tips in turn, then to the first, second, and third knuckles of each. Keshaara froze, nearly pulling her hands out of his grasp, but he held her firmly.

 “Keshaara, you are-”

 “Loki, please, I must be going. Your mother should not be kept waiting. Please let me go.”

 He pulled her close to him in response, pressing her palms to his chest and holding her hands in place with one of his hands as the other held her hip.

 “Frigga can wait. I was not done with you.”

 He bowed his head to press his forehead to hers. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply to calm his heart.

 “My Prince, Loki, please. I do not want to be rude.”

 Keshaara almost squirmed in his grasp, but stilled herself. Still, she was tautly strung, waiting for something – anything to happen.

 “She would understand. She is very understanding.”

 Keshaara sighed, and relaxed into him. She pushed her forehead up against his and huffed, tousling his hair with her breath.

 “Then kiss me properly, at the very least, so that I can greet your mother with your taste on my tongue, instead of your kisses pressed merely to the valleys of my hands.”

 Loki laughed, and obliged, pressing his mouth against hers hungrily, and kissing her until her breath left her. The chuckling sigh that left his lips when he finally pulled away from her was matched by Keshaara’s own half-laugh. She leaned up into him to press one last kiss against his mouth before he released her, and Loki found himself not wanting to let her out of his grasp as she stepped away from him.

 He did not miss the way her fingers danced across her hands, touching the places he had kissed, nor did he miss the small smile that touched the lips he had been kissing. If Keshaara had been any being other than who she was, he would have thought her smile wistful, and her actions nearly bashful, but it was Keshaara, after all. She was made of tougher stuff than that.

 “I certainly hope your mother is as understanding as you say she is, my Prince – my King.”

 Loki’s lips twitched into a grin, one that was tempered by some other emotion. Keshaara could not stay, as much as he wanted her to. He wanted her to. Hels, he wanted her to stay. His magic consumed him, leaving Keshaara standing alone. She was confused, but did not raise her voice to call him back. No, she left, taking her confusion with her, and taking Loki’s sudden absence was not some sort of premonition of how poorly this meeting was about to go.

 

* * *

 

 

 

The meeting…went…

 Well it went.

Keshaara sat very still as the Lady Frigga paced around her for the first few minutes, silent and intimidating. This was a woman far more like Aela than Keshaara had originally been led to believe. Frigga had the eyes of a mage, she saw everything – Keshaara could practically feel her peering through her magic.

The Dovahkiin was careful to watch Frigga as well as she could as the woman paced a circle around her, as well as she could without moving her head.

 “You are my son’s Champion.”

 “Just so.”

 “Are you anything more?”

 “I…no? Yes?”

 “Explain yourself.”

 “I am not just Loki’s Champion. That is offensive to my storied history.”

 “To my son, are you anything more?”

 “That would be a question to ask him, not me. Loki is not fond of sharing his emotional state with me. I am, after all, his Champion.”

 “You are lying to me.”

 “I am purposefully insisting you speak to your son of such things instead of asking me. You are a mother, you should know better than to seek answers from someone who is not your child.”

 Frigga drew herself up to her full height, staring down her nose at Keshaara. Keshaara looked evenly back up at the Queen, tension bleeding from her as she realized the questions were not of any import.

 “And if my son refuses to speak to me, refuses to call me mother? What then, oh Champion?”

 “You trust that he is the man you raised him to be. That is all you can do.”

 For a moment, the Queen looked at her.

 “Trust my sons. Yes, I wish I could.”

 “Then why don’t you?”

 “Because they are my sons, and I have seen them both at their worst. Loki and Thor both, are victims of their upbringing, and their strengths cannot be outweighed by their weakness.”

 “You recognize this in both, but I only see Loki in chains.”

 “Thor was already punished for what he did in Jotunheim. Sent to live as a mortal in Midgard, without his powers, and only being allowed to return upon proving his worthiness.”

 “And Loki is not allowed this? Loki is not allowed to walk amongst those he injured to learn the folly of his actions? To learn and realize what it is to be without power so that he can understand what it means to have it?”

 “Loki is responsible for the death of _thousands_ and his punishment could not be so easily meted out.”

 “Thor could have started a war. Thor killed Jotuns – and nearly brought your nation and theirs to a point where lives in the millions would have been lost. Are the lives of humans so much more worthwhile than those who share a lineage with your son? Are you willing to punish one son for killing the people of the other, and leave the other to rot for what was not his own folly?”

 “Loki was in control.”

 “Loki was by no means in control. I have seen the sickness that echoes in his mind, the shape and form of it like a blue box that promises power unending. It lives in his mind yet, and it affects him. He has come to me with eyes as blue as lightning, hissing words beneath his breath of conquering, but remembers none of it upon being questioned. If Thor, in making a decision on his own to start a war, is judged so lightly and Loki is not, I question your King.”

 Keshaara was still careful to keep her tone gentle, but chiding. She was speaking to a mother of her own children, and speaking of things she was pulling together as she talked. Instinct was guiding her, instinct as always was fitting pieces together in her mind as she spoke. She did not miss the way Frigga's eyes narrowed at the mention of the blue cube, nor the way her lips curled around a word she could not be sure she saw correctly -Tes-ser-act? Regardless, Keshaara continued.

 “Is it because he dared to challenge something you thought unchallengeble? Is it because he is not Thor? Why is it that Loki is put in such a position where none in Asgard would defend him, and instead he must call for a Champion from Skyrim? How is it that he even _got_ to Skyrim in the first place? Planes of Oblivion separate here and there, and yet, he was there, and now I am here. There must be more at work than a simple usurpation of a throne for something this serious to be at hand. Surely.”

 “You are indeed as astute as Dόmhildr said.”

 Keshaara laughed. Frigga had looked at her with some sort of secret, conspiratorial smile. Loki had definitely learned that from his mother.

 “So she is _your_ spy. I had wondered who she belonged to.”

 Frigga blinked.

 “I am a thief and assassin myself, good Queen. She talks like a servant, but walks like a thief. I am merely happy it was secrets she was stealing, and not anything _important_ ,” she said with a laugh.

 “You are much and more than you seem, are you not, Keshaara?”

 “So I keep saying, but it seems many question that regardless. I am certain, then, that you do not wish to talk of Loki, then?”

 “No, I definitively want to talk of what you are doing with my youngest son. Dόmhildr saw you wearing his clothing. How did that come to pass?”

 “In the moment she saw me, those were my clothes, and how I came about receiving them – Loki does rather like making sure I have something to wear. I had not brought sleeping attire, so he lent me his.”

 “You lie.”

 “So I do.”

 It was Frigga’s turn to smile.

 “You are a good match for my Loki, then.”

 “Perhaps. He has not yet bested me.”

 “Come to break fast with me, then, Champion Keshaara. I find we should talk. There are many things that concern you now.”

 “As you say, fair Queen.”

 Keshaara rose out of the chair she had been given, and walked where Frigga directed, the conversation decidedly less confrontational now that whatever had needed to pass had done so.


	20. Krefja

The Tale of the Dragonborn

The Tale of the Jotun Prince

* * *

 

 

Frigga was not finished talking with Keshaara until nearly midday, and by the end of it, Keshaara was snarling and furious. Not with Frigga, no. Frigga, in fact, shared her outrage.

 “What do you _mean_ they have proposed? None of these men even bothered to get to know me – and what is this bullshit about ‘seeing me in the markets and having to have me’? Is _this_ what passes for romance in Asgard?” she seethed, directing the question to Frigga, but not honestly expecting the Queen to answer.

 “Not particularly, no. Most are just questions of courtship, asking if it is acceptable to see you again.”

 “It most certainly is not. None of these men are worthy and none of them have proved worth.”

 “It is rude, you know, to not give any of them the chance to court and woo you.”

 “I don’t care. They are asking the wrong woman. I am not of the station to demand courtship. They should know that.”

 “You are a Champion, and close to the Prince. You are beautiful and strong, and some men enjoy the challenge.”

“Then let them find _challenge_ elsewhere. None of them are acceptable to me.”

The All-mother, the woman who would receive missives on behalf of all orphaned or widowed women from men intent upon them, sighed and looked at the pile of requests, all concerning Keshaara’s hand and the marriagability of the woman.

 “You must entertain at least one, lest they whisper about your relationship with Loki.”

 “Then let them _whisper._ I do not find myself caring what these imbeciles think.”

 Frigga looked to one of the sheafs of paper, this one deep blue and written with moonsilver ink. Fandral was one of the imbeciles, it appeared. Not that that was surprising. 

 “It is not proper for a woman of your station.”

 “I have no station, I’m a mutt out of Morrowind, and Ashlander. I am not a woman to be courted, or won. I am a woman to impress.”

 Frigga sighed again, trying to mollify the woman who seemed so irate at the rather hefty compliment being paid to her.

 “How ever did your husband manage it then?”

 “I asked him to be my husband, and he agreed.”

 “Before then, how did he catch your attention, I mean,” Frigga said exasperatedly.

 “He was a good warrior, trustworthy and strong, and he was not averse to marrying me, so we got married.”

 “How did he court you, though? If this is so strange, what makes it acceptable for him, and not all these very eligible men?”

 “He _didn’t_. Courtship is for the heirs of the throne, for the Thalmor and the Jarls. I am a Thane – the first of a lineage, but not a Jarl, and certainly not royalty. Courtship is only for them. I married Farkas because he agreed to marry me. We did not talk of it beforehand, we simply agreed it was the most practical thing to do. None of these men are practical, I don’t know _any_ of them, and they expect me to trust them enough to share house and home with them?!”

 Frigga nodded, but was still frowning in only barely-disguised disbelief.

 “So it is much different. I should remind you that here, you are held in high regard, living in the palace and in close personal contact with the royal family and all their retinue. You are, for all intents and purposes, a high-ranking member of Asgard, even as a foreigner. Could you at least accept one of them?”

 Keshaara growled, and flung her magic at the table. The vast multitude of letters was swept into the air. All but five burst into flames immediately, and those that survived the conflagration floated back down onto the table.

 “Those five. Whoever they are. I don’t give a damn, I’m not marrying any of them.”

 Frigga frowned, but accepted that this was probably the best that she was going to get out of Keshaara.

 “I will have messengers sent to those that you selected.”

 “Wonderful. Am I excused, or are there more proposals to present.”

 Frigga looked back to the table, now scorched and littered with ash.

 “No, that will be all. You are excused, Keshaara.”

 Keshaara had the presence of mind to turn and incline her head in a bow.

 “I am sorry if my outburst offends, High Queen Frigga, but this is not the way of my world and I am not a…bauble. I will do my best to not insult those who come to see me, but if you expect me to marry, you are sorely mistaken. My first marriage has filled me with enough sadness, I do not find myself needing more.”

 Frigga said nothing, and Keshaara left. Ordinarily, she would be beyond upset if she had caused offense to the High Queen or the King, but these were not her rulers, these were not her stones, it was not her sky overhead, and it certainly wasn’t her concern if everyone in Asgard wanted her. She was no prize, no bauble, no shiny trophy for a man to parade around, and the insult of asking _another person_ for her attentions and praises, as if she was incapable of making that sort of decision herself.

 It rankled, and Keshaara stormed through the palace, unsure of where she was heading, but needed somewhere to let her anger bleed from her. Her pace was quick, and her strides were long enough to carry her through the entirety of the palace in a matter of minutes. She was nearing the main exit when she heard Loki’s voice, and the murmuring of other voices as well.

 Keshaara altered her path immediately, not knowing what Loki could be doing, but nearly certain it would be trouble.

 She walked into the open area to see Thor, the Warriors Three, Sif, and Loki all in their armor and one small woman standing beside Thor and snarling up at Loki. Keshaara advanced quickly, not liking Loki’s odds against four others. He was a capable warrior, to be certain, but she had faced Fandral and Sif on her own, and would rather not have Loki face them all together.

 The diminutive woman, wearing clothing far different than anything Keshaara had seen, reached up and slapped Loki full across the face. Keshaara’s clothing flicked off of her body, replaced by the midnight-black armor of a thief, and her twin daggers snapped into place in the small of her back, the hilts projecting out from either side of her body in case she needed to draw them quickly.

 Her steps were silent, and she was treated to the very distressing sight of weapons being drawn on Loki – glittering blades and a hammer. Loki, for his part looked relaxed and calm, despite his lack of armament. That was, perhaps, because he had known that Keshaara would be –

 There were twin rasps of steel sliding through sheaths, and before any of the assembled could turn to face her, she had the pointy end of one of her daggers nestled neatly at the crease line under Sif’s arm, and the other at Thor’s throat.

 Shadows danced around her, and it was almost as if she was sliding in and out of vision as she stood there, her blades poised and ready to kill if she had to. Everyone was holding very still, which was probably for the best. Keshaara’s blades were very sharp, and these daggers were laden with enough poison folded into the metal to make any small cut agony.

 “Keshaara, stand down, they are not going to hurt me.”

 “Of course they are not. When they sheath their weapons, I shall sheath mine, however. I mistrust those who would draw blade on you.”

 Loki laughed, and reached out to touch her shoulder. Keshaara lowered her blades, careful to watch the others to ensure no chicanery. Thor was the last to relax, hooking the strap of his hammer back to his belt and pulling the small woman close. Loki huffed and went about making the introduction, as was polite.

 “Keshaara, meet Jane of Midgard, bearer of the Aether, and Thor’s-”

 “Silence, brother,” Thor snapped, interrupting Loki.

 Keshaara drew herself up to her full height, rolling her shoulders back and staring at Thor with eyes that blistered with the fury of stars. He did not recoil from her, meeting her stare evenly.

 “<This is your brother, then, Loki?>” she asked, choosing to be rude and slip back into her native tongue.

 “<This is Thor, yes.>”

 “<Interesting. And the woman, then?>”

 “<Harbinger, of sorts. Odin will undoubtably tell everyone of the doom she carries within her, but for now, yes, she is his intended, of sorts, and a very bad omen.>”

 Keshaara laughed, shaking her head and turning back to Loki.

 “Well we certainly haven’t had enough of that yet, have we? Jane of Midgard, I am Keshaara, _Thuri_ Dovahkiin, Champion of Loki,” Keshaara said politely, inclining her head to the smaller woman.

 What she was not expecting was for Jane to reach up and slap her as well. Keshaara was quick to turn her head, not wanting to bring Jane overmuch pain, but the mask she wore over her face was edged and sharp, so Jane’s hand came away bloodied.

 “How dare you protect a monster such as him?!” the woman hissed, cradling her now-injured hand against her chest. Thor was immediately attentive, trying to suss out the damage done to his…whatever.

 “I dare plenty of things. Though I would caution you against striking me again. I do not take kindly to such things.”

 Keshaara snatched Jane’s hand back, moving faster than the eye could follow Golden light flowed around her, and as ever, Keshaara healed the wound she caused, leaving Jane standing with a blood-covered hand, but without the wound.

 “I am _Thuri_ Dovahkiin, and I will have the respect you afford all others here. Regardless of how I am bound to Loki, I am a warrior as of yet unmatched, and Loki is free because the fates have not caused my blade to falter. Are we of an understanding?”

 Jane stared at her hand.

 “How did you do that?”

 “Magic. I am Archmage, after all. Simple healing spell.”

 Jane seemed genuinely interested in what she had done, but Keshaara was already withdrawing away from her, back towards Loki. Loki had to resist the urge to pull her against him and kiss her wonderful mask, pull her hood from her hair and have his wonderful golden brother watch her wonderful golden eyes close as the raven-son made her swoon. He did nothing, but Norns did he want to. Norns he wanted to.

 Keshaara winked at him as she took up a position at his side, waiting for the next outburst.

 “Brother, do better to contain your Champion, I will not have her threatening Jane.”

 “The aforementioned Champion is right here and will not be talked over, Thor. Mind your tongue and give her the respect she deserves.”

 Keshaara’s tone was biting, and Loki nearly broke something keeping his smile small and tight. Thor looked to her, startled and taken aback.

 “I will take an apology now. You are acting out in front of Jane, and as she is guest to the realm such as I, you are undoubtedly being rude.”

 Thor stammered, looking to his friends for back-up, but Sif was glaring at Loki and Fandral held both of his hands up in deference. Volstagg and Hogun just shrugged. Keshaara had her jaw set, and her head was held high, challenging Thor with posture alone. Her armor flickered and vanished, replaced by the clothing she had been wearing earlier.

 “My apologies, Lady Keshaara. I had meant no insult, though you threatened my own guest.”

 “After, mind you, you drew steel on Loki, and after your guest assaulted him. If I had wanted to, no law of Divine or Daedra would have condemned me of murder if I had destroyed you where you stood.”

 She spoke matter-of-factly, but did not let her tone drag towards aggressive. This was a needed scolding, but not one she wanted to escalate to anything further. Thor looked properly chastised, if a little irritated with her, but Keshaara could hardly bring herself to care if she had offered him some small insult or another.

 “Loki, may you take some time to show me the training grounds? I find myself in need of some manner of stretching, and having someone direct me to the place is much better than me wandering.”

 Loki was still smiling, feral and predatory and nodded gallantly to her, extending an arm to her. Keshaara rested her hand gently in the crook of his elbow, and allowed him to walk her away from the gathering of people. Their pace was quick, taking into account both of their long strides, and quickly, they left the group behind. He guided her through the palace, following paths only he knew off the top of his head. Keshaara watched the world around her with eyes wide, but could not help to notice, after they had walked quite a way, that Loki was still smiling broadly. 

 “<I take it that was pleasing to you, my King?>” Keshaara asked congenially, masking her smile with polite tones and words incomprehensible to the others.

 “<If there were not eyes still on us, I would wrap the both of us in an illusion and take you up against these pillars right now, my Champion. I would make you scream my name and have the halls echo with the sounds of your pleasure. It was most pleasing.>”

 Keshaara’s mouth went dry, and then very wet. Her knees weakened, and she leaned into Loki heavily.

 “<I would accuse you of doing that on purpose if I did not know you better, Loki.>”

 He laughed, long and loud, and Keshaara bared her teeth in a grin.

 “<But I mean every word of it. I would have the air filled with your sweet moans before Thor sets to his own woman. He may be the Thunderer, and his voice shakes dust from the rafters, but yours, I am certain, could tear down all of Asgard and I would rather that occur as you are stuffed full of my cock and cum.>”

 Keshaara huffed, her hand tightening on his arm. He leered down at her, pulling her closer to him, only fractionally, as they were still being observed, but enough to make Keshaara aware of their proximity to each other.

 “<That sounds an awful lot like a challenge, Loki.>”

 “<Well I certainly am willing to give you the chance to prove me right.>”

 “<How gallant of you. Perhaps I will take your challenge, though I doubt that would please the suitors.>”

 “Suitors? Who is-”

 “<Lady Frigga had received approximately seventy or so petitions for my hand, apparently. I was told it would be rude to not at least allow some of them the chance to prove themselves to me. I think there are five who are going to be attempting to woo me.>”

 Keshaara waved off his concern with a flick of her hand, still speaking as they had in Skyrim, uncaring of the sudden change in Loki’s language of choice.

 “But who?”

 “I don’t particularly know. I did not care to read their reasonings, and I am not going to accept marriage from any of them.”

 Loki was not so easily mollified, and quickly pulled her to the side into an alcove. Not, however, for any sort of enthusiastic canoodling, as Keshaara breathlessly anticipated, but to grab her by the shoulders and press her into the wall.

 “But you accepted their courtships? Why would you do that?”

 Keshaara wriggled, trying to get Loki to come closer to her, arching her back invitingly and making a small sound of need in the back of her throat. Loki pressed himself up against her to still her incessant movements, growling a curse and command to stay **still** at her. She, of course, did not comply, and ground her hips into his. He was not truly in the mood to ravish her just then, but Norns if she wasn’t trying to make him do just that.

 “Keshaara, why did you accept their advances?”

 She whined playfully, leaning her head in to try and steal a kiss from him. Loki pulled his head away from her, gnashing his teeth at her flippancy. There was an uncomfortable tightness in his chest, and an ache in his hands that he could not place, but her attitude and confession were making him _feel_ like that. Again, her hips pushed into his, and he had to steel himself against the urge to pull the information out of her with his teeth and tongue.

 “Kesh, _why_?”

“Does it really matter, Loki? I am not going to marry any of them. I don’t intend to put up with any of them for long, I just needed to make sure it appeared as if I was trying, for whatever reason. Frigga said as much, and I was just doing as she asked.”

"But whose did you accept?”

 He accentuated his question with a nearly savage push, bringing his face back close to hers, and snapping his hips up against her again. Keshaara gave a gleeful half-gasp, her head rocking back against the wall. He pulled away from her before she could retaliate, and almost breathlessly, Keshaara answered his question.

 “I don’t _know_ , Loki. I did not care to know – I don’t know any of the people here, regardless. They had their reasons for asking Frigga to grant them my hand, and I have my reasons for not caring a whit what they want from me. I chose five because it was a good enough number to seem as if I was attempting to find a mate, but I have no interest in marrying any of these men.”

 “Then why any of them?”

 “Because I wanted to, I don’t know. I won’t be going home, will I? I might as well at least make it known that I do not want to marry any of those men, or any of the others who think it appropriate to ask Frigga instead of me.”

 “Truly.”

 “Truly, Loki. Why are you so concerned?”

 “I do not want them using you against me.”

 “So I had thought as well,” Keshaara said, rolling her eyes. “But you should trust that I’m not going to fall into marriage with someone and then divulge all of my secrets to them, let alone the secrets of the man I Champion.”

 Loki was slow to release her, exhaling heavily, and rubbing his hands down her arms. He stepped the barest amount back from her, and sighed. Keshaara remained still for only a moment before she reached up to gently lay her hands on his arms. She leaned into him, and kissed him, just once, before retreating and turning away from him.

 “Now, you were going to show me the way to the training grounds, were you not? Let us be off!”

 Keshaara struck out from the small alcove Loki had pulled her into, smiling and pulling him along with her. She nearly ran right into Fandral, who was walking past. Keshaara dropped Loki’s arm and straightened, still smiling broadly.

 “Fandral! Hello.”

 


	21. Raun

The Tale of the Dragonborn

The Tale of the Jotun Prince

* * *

 

 

“I had received a missive from the Queen. You have accepted?”

“I accepted the courtship I understood was being offered. Yours and four others, yes. Do excuse me, Loki was showing me to the training fields.”

She moved to walk past Fandral, but the man stepped backwards and into her path again.

“I shall walk with you -”

 “You shall not.”

 He blinked in confusion.

 “My Lady it is customary-”

 “Where I am from, it is rude. Do you think I need protection on my way to the fields?”

 “No I-”

 “Do you think that something untoward will happen to me?”

 “No, but I-”

 “Do you think Loki does not know the way to the fields?”

 “No, but he’s-”

 “What purpose will your presence serve?”

 “I merely wished to talk with you.”

 The first sentence he manages to get out in its entirety falls flat out of his mouth, and Fandral nearly wrings his hands in nervousness.

 “Then _ask_. If I am willing to suffer you, I shall. As of right now, I am not. If this is your first time courting a Ashlander, I shall inform you that we are a prickly people, not given over to romance or soft words. We come from a land of ash and fire and we are not genteel and soft like Aesir are.”

 Fandral gaped at her, and Keshaara took that as an indication that their conversation was over. She brushed past him, gesturing backwards to Loki, who shot a smirk at Fandral and followed behind Keshaara. Fandral stared at the both of them, confused as to where he had gone wrong in this brief conversation.

 Keshaara and Loki walked on, with Loki checking back over his shoulder ever so often to see if Fandral was still following. The blonde was still standing where they had left him, gaping at Keshaara’s back (his blue eyes dipping just the once to her pert rear and Loki had to remind himself that she was not _his_ so he could not object but fury blistered his skin as hot as her touch) but not walking towards them. Loki directed his next smirk at Keshaara, waiting until they were out of Fandral’s line of sight to swot Keshaara on the rump playfully (and not at all to wipe the thought of Fandral’s eyes on her ass out of his mind).

 “That was deftly done, Keshaara,” he purred over her squeak of surprise.

 “Shut up and show me the training ground. Then go sulk elsewhere for a few hours and leave me in peace.”

 Loki pursed his lips at her, and after she checked the area to make sure no one was around, she stepped in close to kiss him soundly, twisting her fingers through his hair and pulling. Loki gasped his pleasure at that and pulled her close to him. He rolled his hips against hers, letting her feel his cock’s hardness jut into her gut, and Keshaara whined. She licked at her lips when he pulled away from her, her orange eyes dark with blown pupils.

 “Norns _Keshaara_.”

 “ _Loki_ ,” she growled back with equal fervor.

 She bit his lower lip, pulling on it ever so slightly to try and tempt him back closer to her. It was Loki’s turn to make a needy sound, and he closed the distance between the two of them again to kiss her deeply. He pushed her up against one of the columns, not caring that anyone could walk by at any moment. As soon as their lips touched, everything faded away and his world – all the beauty and majesty and wonder of the Nine Realms, all the hatred and fear and power and sadness of it too – was just her. The only parts of reality that were _real_ any more were the parts of his reality that were graced by her touch.

 His hands were grabbing her with such force around the hips that it would almost certainly leave bruises, but the way she gasped into his mouth when he clenched his hands made him see stars in constellations he had never envisioned before and he held her all the harder, pushing her into the wall with the same force he wanted to pull her against him. He kissed her breath out of her, kissed it back into her, and then stole it again as she did her best to reciprocate. Her body undulated as best it could against his, providing wonderful friction between the two of them. Keshaara’s fingers were still tangled in his hair, twirling strands around, rubbing circles into the back of his neck and scalp, pulling when his grip became too harsh, a reminder that he could be hurting her.

 Loki had to pull away to catch his breath after minutes of this delightful torture, even if nothing inside of him wanted to stop the hungry press of his mouth against hers. Slowly, the world and Realms crashed back into existence around him, and he pulled himself away from her. Keshaara watched him, her eyes more black than orange, and Loki knew that he looked equally as debauched as she did. He had somehow mussed her previously immaculate braid, and when he reached up to run his fingers through his own hair, he felt knots and tangles that had not been there until just then.

 He hastily combed his hair out with his fingers, watching Keshaara laugh out of the corner of his eye as she fixed her own braid.

 “Kesh-” he started, reaching for her again, when there came footsteps from behind them.

 Loki would never admit to jumping when startled, and he had tamped down that reaction considerably as he had grown older, but he did turn sharply to stare down whoever had approached them. By no means was this a well-trafficked part of the palace, so the intrusion would have come sooner or later, but that did not mean he had to be pleased about it. He still ached for Keshaara’s body against him, and the cold had begun to set in where her heat had just previously been. Not to mention the uncomfortable _hardness_ of his cock.

 It was only a guard who was walking his rounds that had disturbed them. Loki glared, as was usual, and Keshaara greeted the man warmly, smiling broadly at him. The guard nodded in response, and walked past them. Certainly there would be rumors, if there had not been already, but that hardly concerned Loki.

 “About that training arena, Loki?” Keshaara said with a sly grin. “At this rate, I will be late getting there, and I am nearly certain Fandral will be waiting for me.”

 “Then let him wait, I am not finished with my Champion yet,” Loki hissed, reaching for her again.

 “Of course you aren’t. I still need to go.”

 This time, though, she batted his hands away, and started walking in the direction they had originally been going, looking over her shoulder to see if Loki would follow behind. Of course he did, catching up to her and pointing the way out. A biting retort stung his tongue, and he found that the thought of letting it loose on her made him feel uncharacteristically uneasy.

 Loki dismissed the thought and carried on showing her through the palace he had grown up a Prince in. Keshaara, for her part, began asking questions about the design of things, commenting on her distaste for the gaudiness.

 “It looks like Pelagius the Mad designed half of this place. There is so much intricate work in here that it seems overwrought. Why did they choose this particular motif?” she asked, gesturing to the column they were passing, covered as it was with intricate carvings.

 Loki, lover of art and artistry that he was, found himself quickly embroiled in a spirited debate about the artwork and design of the palace. Keshaara argued for the simplicity of design he had seen while in Skyrim, pointing out that adding more gold and design to something does not necessarily make it any more pretty or eye-catching. Loki argued for opulence in design, citing the palaces of all Realms as presenting the best of that Realm’s offerances. There was no point in having a palace if it was mediocre or did not strike awe into whoever walked into it – and as the Palace of the All-Father, it was very important that this be as intimidating as it was beautiful.

 Their conversation continued in the same vein as they walked, each trying to out-maneuver the other in their discussion, each convinced of the right of their statements. It was thoroughly enjoyable, and made the walk go that much faster.

 The two of them were still debating vociferously as the walls of the palace dropped away to expose the open-air training arenas set up for mock-combats and practice. Keshaara shifted smoothly into her Nightingale armor as they spoke, and Loki wrapped his own armor around him as well. They were focused solely on the conversation to the exclusion of all else, including Fandral lifting a hand in greeting to Keshaara, and Sif’s shout of invitation.

 Loki and Keshaara did not even look at each other, moving perfectly in sync as Keshaara vaulted the fence, and Loki slid in between the two bars. She walked to the weapons rack, selecting a matched set of staffs from there, and tossed the other one to Loki, who caught it mid-gesture.

 Keshaara flicked her hood off, along with her mask, boots and vambraces, leaving her arms free, and feet bare but the majority of her body still protected. Their conversation continued, each providing points and counterpoints to the arguments as they began to circle on another. Keshaara stepped carefully - walking as a thief would, holding her staff in her left hand. Loki circled opposite to her, walking as he ever did and taking his time with every movement, as if he had contemplated whatever small motion he made before making it.

 Their debate continued, even as Keshaara spun into the circle they had been walking, her staff whipping up towards Loki’s temple. He blocked it easily, countering both her point and her attack with his own movements.

 The fight was a dance between the two of them. Keshaara was an acrobatic fighter, twisting, spinning, leaping and turning with an extreme precision that Loki matched with a calmer style, working with only small movements, keeping his body tight and his moves tighter. He was not going to waste any energy on the flashy motions Keshaara seemed to prefer. Their fight was drawn-out, each clearly matching the other with their preferred style. There was no clear victor, not yet.

 Even as her moves only grew in explosive energy, Keshaara’s voice remained even and steady, arguing her points with the same amount of grace she had when she twisted through the air, using her staff as a vault to get her up over Loki’s head. She landed lightly on the balls of her feet, ducking low under his swinging strike, and sweeping his feet out from underneath him. Loki went to his knees, but rocked backwards fast enough to catch her next strike on his staff. Keshaara had an advantage and pressed it, forcing Loki onto his back, with his legs folded awkwardly beneath him.

 The butt of her staff jutted up underneath his chin, and she tapped his throat gently. He held his hands up in defeat, rolling his eyes at her and muttering something under his breath. She smiled and pulled the staff away, extending a hand down to him. Loki took the offered and, and Keshaara pulled him to his feet, smiling at him widely.

 “Don’t think that means you win the debate, Kesh”

 “Divines, _no_ , Loki. I would never,” Keshaara said, placing entirely too much emphasis on her words and putting on an expression of mock horror. “Goodness knows there is more than enough pretentiousness in the design of the palace, we certainly don’t need it pouring out of my mouth, now do we?”

 Loki snorted, and shook his head at her.

 “Please, that’s hardly becoming, Kesh.”

 “Well, that’s just fine with me. Are you done?”

 Loki sighed dramatically, throwing his hands up.

“I suppose. I will cede this battle, but not the debate.”

“Of course you wouldn’t. Despite the fact that I am right.”

Keshaara and Loki carried on in the same vein for a while longer, to the confusion of those gathered. They switched happily between the two languages they shared, completing sentences in a different language than they had started in, talking easily as Keshaara moved through her various stretches and Loki observed, occasionally offering sarcastic observations about whatever stance she was moving through.

 Keshaara was mid-lunge, her left thigh pressed into her chest and chin resting on her knee with her right leg extended far out behind her, when she heard Loki make a snide comment in the tongue of Skyrim about a jaybird approaching. Confused, as she had not seen any of the local birds of Asgard just yet, Keshaara turned her gaze to him.

 Fandral was walking towards them, dressed as he always seemed to be, in deep blue-accented armor that was just as overwrought as everything else in the palace, and she had to disguise her sharp bark of laughter by pulling her right leg straight up over her head until she was doing the vertical splits, all while maintaining her grip on her toes.

 “Lady Keshaara, I see you are warming up!” Fandral said pleasantly, walking up behind Loki.

 “I am plenty warmed, thank you, but I am stretching regardless,” she replied, slowly bringing her torso up and right leg down until she was making a rather perfect ‘t’ shape with her body.

 Fandral said nothing for a while, and Keshaara continued to move through her stretches, enjoying the feeling and wholly unperturbed by the two men watching her.

 “Are you looking to join me?” she asked after a extended silence. Loki huffed, and almost immediately walked away, not wanting to observe whatever stupidity was about to occur.

 Fandral, for his part, hopped excitedly into the ring, nearly falling when his cloak caught the fence, but managing to recover with a flair.

 “That was not an invitation, that was a question, but since you’re already in the ring, you can pick up the staff and we can start drilling, or what have you. I would prefer hand to hand with you, as I have no idea how you fight.”

 “You faced me in combat not two days past, my dear.”

 “With a sword, yes. With your head, no. I fought along side Loki, and against Loki. I know how he thinks and how he fights, and when we spar, I do not fear that he will harm me. I trust him. I do not, however, have that manner of rapport with you, and last time we fought, it was easy enough to goad you into stabbing me.”

 “That is a fair enough point. Staff it is.”

 Fandral hefted the weapon and after a brief moment of re-acclimating himself to the weapon, took up a ready position and nodded to Keshaara to begin. It took her two strikes to send the staff spinning from his hands. She retreated back to her original position in the arena, waited for Fandral to pick up his staff again and shake his hands out, before rushing in again.

 There was no joyous banter or discussion as they fought, and Keshaara did pull her strikes. She put the full brunt of her weight behind each hit, not expressing any emotion as she fought, but attacking with the same brutal efficiency she used when she was fighting for her life. Fandral held his own reasonably well, only taking the occasional harsh strike to the ribs or arm. He fought valiantly, giving almost as good as he got until Keshaara swept his legs out from underneath him.

 Unlike Loki, however, Fandral managed to get his legs out from underneath him, and kicked her legs. Rather ungracefully, Keshaara fell on top of him. He grunted, but laughed, and wrapped an arm casually around her to hold her down. Keshaara, on the other hand, made sure she had straddled his hips so that she was still in the dominant position in their spar. She cocked her fist back and began pummeling Fandral mercilessly, keeping one hand fisted in the cloak he insisted upon wearing. He defended himself admirably until she twisted his cloak in her hand and pulled it across his neck, pushing down with all of her weight in a brutal chokehold.

 He bucked and twisted under her, reaching up to claw at her neck and face, and her boots flicked back into existence around her feet. With the extra traction of her boots digging into the sand, Keshaara was easily capable of staying on top of him, pinning him down into the dirt and choking him all the harder.

 Fandral was quick to tap her shoulder, signaling his surrender, and Keshaara immediately released her grasp, and stood up off of him. Her breaths came in slow, even pants, and she rested her palms on her knees.

 “Fair fight, Fandral.”

 “Fair fight, Keshaara.”

 She extended a hand to him to help him up. He took it gallantly, rising all the way to his feet, before dropping back down to one knee and kissing the palm of her hand gently. Keshaara’s breath caught and she tried not to pull her hand away too quickly, but he had startled her and her hasty exit from the training field was less than graceful. She stammered some manner of apology and farewell, and fled, her hands pressed together, the residual dampness of his kiss making her flesh prickle.


	22. Fljótr

The Tale of the Dragonborn

The Tale of the Jotun Prince

* * *

 

 

Keshaara was quick to put distance between her and Fandral, moving as quietly as she could to hopefully dissuade anyone from following her. She did not – she did not want to think about why he would have insisted upon touching her like that. Her palm went from tingling to burning, the imprint of Fandral’s lips feeling like it had branded itself into her flesh. She worried her thumb over the offending spot, not paying much attention to where she was wandering or what she was doing. She just did not want to be around Fandral or anyone else right then.

 She was still wearing her leather clothing - her borrowed clothing that she wore in the style of Skyrim without being able to style it as she wanted. She tore the leather tunic off of her body, not caring that her blouse was hardly proper for someone like her to be wearing. She just wanted to find a way to expel the sudden curl of white-hot fury and sadness that burned her throat.

 These were not her clothes.

 This was not her home.

 The man who had pressed his lips to her hands in a mockery of every courtship ritual she knew of was not someone she had chosen for herself.

 This was not home.

 Her husband was dead, her children were dead and no one here seemed even the slightest bit concerned about those facts.

 This would not be home.

 There was no way to get back home.

 Her hands clenched at her sides as she looked out over the gilded city. Just once, she wanted to see unbridled nature, just once she wished to feel the wind’s kiss on her hair without it being sterilized by the buildings around her. She wanted to feel the touch of frost, the breath of wildness, everything that had been missing in her stay in the palace.

 She turned abruptly and stormed to her room, her brows drawn low, and her single minded intent leading her to pass by people she would have otherwise paused to greet. Her mood was as clear as the half-sneer on her face, and there was really no way to get in her way. She was a Nord on the move, and such things were not often changed from their path.

 Keshaara brushed past the guards who flanked her room’s doors, sweeping back into her quarters with an audible groan.

 Dómhildr, in the middle of arranging her few belongings in a pack, jumped and turned quickly to face Keshaara.

 “Lady Keshaara, I was not expecting-”

 “Oh, hush Dómhildr. You weren’t expecting me, nor were you expecting Frigga to tell me about you, but you know that I know and nothing has changed regardless of it all. You aren’t going anywhere, put your things back. I still need a housecarl and I already knew you were someone’s spy. Y’walk like a thief. I do need for you to pass a message along to anyone who comes by looking for me – I’m going to go on a walkaround and I probably won’t be back for a few days. If Loki needs me, he can always call me back.”

 “Wait – where are you going, exactly? What if there is another Challenge, if you are not around, then Loki will be found guilty-”

 “I don’t know where I am going, but I am going away. Loki knows how to call me back if I am needed, and if it is urgent, he can call me immediately. Magic does exist, after all. I’m certain he won’t be overly concerned with where I am as long as I do my job.”

 Dómhildr fretted, moving to put her clothing and ownings back in place, moving erratically and quickly.

 “But Keshaara, you have just accepted the courtship of five men, what will they think?”

 “I don’t really care. If they wish to see it as challenge, then they can come find me. If they would rather not, well that is at their discretion as well. I just need to be away. I cannot be here. I will be around if needed, and I will more than likely come and go. I need the freedom of open air, and I need to be away from everyone here. I will come back, just…I will leave again.”

 It had not been until she was forced to explain it to Dómhildr that Keshaara realized that she had been doing exactly what she had done for the longest time back in Skyrim. It was just too much for her to deal with all of this newness, all of these new people who did not offer her the proper respect, all of these people who would not see fit to respect her even when she proved herself worthy of it. There was too much.

 There. Was. Too. Much.

 Keshaara shook her head, trying to maintain her admittedly tenuous hold on her emotions now that the vicious cycle had started. Ever breath she took inside the confines of the palace walls, every step she took that echoed with the glittering sound of metal, all of it rankled her. This room was mollification enough to keep her from flying to pieces, but she was going to leave. She just needed a few days, maybe a week, just to be on her own.

 She just needed to be on her own.

 “Please go and pass along the messages as you see fit to anyone who needs to know. I will be leaving in a few minutes after packing a few things I need. I have to prepare for whatever I may come across while I’m walking.”

 Dómhildr did not need much more urging than that, and rushed out of the room, undoubtedly to tattle on Keshaara like she had been told to do.

 Keshaara shook her head and went about her preparations, unpacking the things in her back she no longer needed, and picking up a few of the books Frigga had given to her to read while she was out. Her knives and daggers remained in the bag, as did a few of the other weapons she had stashed away in the hopes that no one would find her out for the possession of what she should not have kept. Her armor remained, and she stashed a few more pairs of light, comfortable clothing, a pleasant mix of her clothing and the new clothes that Frigga had given her.

 She wandered through her bedroom, privately happy that she was not going to spend another night in the purple sheets for a while. Somewhere where her bed would be pine boughs, her blankets the furs of animals, and the strange stars spread out above her. Hopefully the mountains would be cold, hopefully she would see her breath spin fractals in the air, and feel at least the slightest bit at home.

 That would be nice.

 She looked over her black curtains, still unpatterned. Twisting her mouth to the side, Keshaara clenched her hand a few times. She wanted to go away from the palace, wanted to go out and experience this new land on her own and figure out what made these people their own. She wanted to lay her fingers on the pulse of Asgard and feel its lifeforce flow through her and around her.

 That was not so much to ask, was it?

 It could not be too much to ask.

 Almost with a casual ease, she sent her magic out over the curtains, summoning the silver and white thread she had bought in the markets and setting to her work.

* * *

 

“Keshaara is leaving because of _you_ ,” the woman hissed before darting around him to try and go elsewhere.

He caught her arm and spun her back around to face him.

“What do you mean? Where is she going?”

 “She won’t _tell me_ but she is packing her things and leaving.”

 “She just finished remodeling her rooms, why would she leave?”

 “I don’t know, but she is leaving and it is entirely caused by you. She has a room she designed, and more marriage prospects that Frigga could count, but she is leaving regardless, and you-”

 Loki did not need to stay to hear the rest of Dómhildr’s accusations, and had already begun to storm his way back towards Keshaara’s rooms. For someone usually so composed, the sudden surge of emotion in his chest was startling, but it only fed back into itself – he felt something new and strange in his chest and that made the familiar sensation of anger burn in his blood, but that only made the strange feeling feel more severe.

 It was in these sorts of few moments when his magic would get out of hand. Guards he passed doubled over, suddenly feeling ill, or dizzy. Tapestries curled away from him, curtains blew outwards in a frantic attempt to flee, and the world seemed to tip dangerously as he stalked towards Keshaara’s room.

 The guards at her door wisely ducked out of his path, not bothering to knock or attempt to announce his arrival. No, Loki handled that with a _push_ of magic strong enough to nearly knock the huge doors to her room from their hinges. There was a barely heard rasp of steel behind the thrum of his magic in his ears, and before he could voice his rage, there was the prick of ice at his throat. A blade as black as midnight, a dagger that dripped magic and malice was pressed to the gentle dip of his neck.

 Keshaara melted into existence out of the shadows, in a deep lunge, her arm fully extended through any sort of defense he could have summoned. Her eyes burned with fury. Loki practically watched the words and curses that resonated through her entire frame spiral back into ash. She swallowed her rage back inside of her, letting the sparks that stoked the flames of her ire fade until there was a curious lack of heat.

 The blade was withdrawn, sheathed and placed at her hip. Loki was quick to dissemble his silence with his own words, his fury not giving him the presence of mind to watch her reaction. He, upon reflection later, would vow to watch her, to take stock of how she carried herself. He knew Keshaara, he knew her better than anyone else in Asgard, in all of the Nine Realms.

 He did not know her well enough to keep a hissed phrase behind his teeth instead of unleashing it.

 Because he let it slip across his tongue, he let it out, and felt the world tip in response.

Keshaara, her ire raised at Loki’s argumentative tone, but otherwise unaffected was mid-turn when…it happened.

 “If you are _so determined_ to find another man to marry, at **least** find one better than the mongrel of a man you married last time.”

 Between one moment and the next, it felt like all of the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving her frozen on the spot, her hand halfway back to the dagger sheathed at her hip. Loki had moved on, carrying on in his diatribe.

 “What did you say.”

 Her words cut through whatever else Loki was monologuing about, catching him off-guard. For a moment, he looked at her with fury writ into his eyes, but…the fury faded as hers rose. She felt the world shift. Her anger froze the fire in her chest. Loki should have known better than to offer insult to her husband.

 Her _husband_.

 “Get. Out.”

 Loki reached for her, suddenly feeling that he had crossed a line. He had crossed a line and obliterated any chance of crossing back over it. His fingers nearly brushed her elbow – but she was already recoiling from him, her lip curling in a disgusted sneer. He knew that expression, he knew how it felt on his face, but it was on Keshaara’s. There was no explosion of anger. There were no great theatrics. He literally watched her wilt inwards, her rage blistering her from the inside out.

 “Leave.”

 “Kesh-”

 “ _Leave._ ”

 Her voice was thunder, and Loki wisely retreated, no apologies fitting the phrases he wanted to say. Keshaara’s eyes were **cold** as she watched him leave. The door shut behind him with a final-sounding click. It was not until he was far from her room, nearly back to his own quarters when his own fury choked him. But Keshaara was far away and fuming on her own, her knuckles white, but all thoughts of leaving the palace gone. She was going to stay, if only to figure out how to best retaliate against these damned Aesir.

 She was _furious_ with the lot of them. Fandral had dared to disgrace her by kissing the palm of her hand. Loki had stippled her flesh with kisses as well, but seemed determined to signify one thing with his lips and another with his tongue. The rest were no better. All of them.

 Keshaara was never so rash as to shatter items with her magic. But in that moment, when the pressure of being in this new society with no outlet for any of her feelings, no way to escape the constant barrage of newness, she rather understood the urge to rip a room to pieces.


	23. Skreyja

The Tale of the Dragonborn

~~The Tale of the Jotun Prince~~

* * *

 

 

Keshaara stood frozen in place for long minutes after Loki had left. Her rage alternated between burning hot and cold inside of her. Her mind was a scrambled mess and she had no recollection of how long had passed between Loki’s exit and Dόmhildr’s entrance, but the servant’s entry was the only thing that brought her back out of her daze. Keshaara shook her head and turned to the woman, blinking away her emotions to better regard her next move.

 “It appears I will not be leaving just yet. Loki has impressed upon me the need to remain here for a while longer. I will not, however, be wearing the dress you made for me tonight. I am quite tired of Asgardian fashion. Kindly fetch me whatever you use to sew. I will be making my own dress for the evening, as well as yours.”

 Dόmhildr looked at her, eyes wide.

 “Wh…my Lady, why?”

 “Because in Skyrim, your housecarl comes with you. I would not leave Argis behind, nor would I leave Lydia, or any of the others who served me faithfully. This is a meeting with the High King and it would be improper of me to appear _without_ a housecarl beside me. Besides, you will look quite fetching in the outfit I have planned for you. You are, after all, mine own.”

 Dόmhildr flinched, stepping back from Keshaara.

 “Lady Keshaara, this is hardly orthodox – what will everyone say?”

 “Who fucking cares? I’m tired of this. I’m tired of pretending I’m one of them and having them spend every moment proving I’m not. It’ll be fun. You get to rub elbows with everyone who disproves of whatever you have done, under the guise of being my attendant for the evening. You get to wear fashion that’ll make men and women alike swoon, either out of lust or terror, who the fuck cares which, and at the end of the evening, I’m certain we’ll both have stories to tell.”

 Dόmhildr looked at her, her horror fading amazement, then to shock, and finally to fevered acceptance.

 “Yes, let’s do that then. Let’s do it.”

 “You are certain?”

 “Yes! Yes, I want to do this. Tell me what I need to do.”

 Keshaara smiled with a mouth too full of teeth, and bent her head close to Dόmhildr’s, whispering conspiracy under her breath, and sketching magic through the air. The plan was not complex. Keshaara had a mind for vengeancies, she had a sharper wit and tongue than many expected, even after being exposed to her acerbic personality, and when she had the time, she could plot deviances that made even the most hardened of tricksters gasp.

 And that was rather the plan for the evening.

 Dόmhildr agreed with everything Keshaara said. The hesitance that had existed melted away until she was eagerly nodding along with everything Keshaara said, her eyes wide and bright with the infectious sort of mischief that Keshaara was planning.

 

* * *

 

Loki did not sulk. He did not. He did not. He did _not._ No, he sat _pensively_ at his table, glowering at those around him. These feasts were wearing on him, but it was all necessary for some reason. Some reason, he was sure, there was some reason for him to be stuck night after night listening to the inane chatter of others, and this time he did not have Keshaara to entertain him. Keshaara who had done so much, and now, Keshaara who was clearly upset with him.

Usually that sort of thing would make him smile.

 Tonight, he just crossed his arms petulantly and waited for the food to be served so he could leave without his Lady Mother coming to find him later in the evening and chide him for his rudeness. So he observed everyone with a sneer. His evening was sour.

 Or at least, it was, until the doors that lead into the feast hall were thrown open with the merest echo of “- _dah_!”

 Keshaara sauntered in, eyes blazing and –

 “Oh nine Hells,” Loki hissed, his hands clenching.

 The outfit she was wearing was barely made of anything that could be called cloth. The simple modesty band around her breasts covered only the barest of essentials, and her pants looked like they were mere seconds from slipping off of her ( _norns how could he have not seen_ ) curvaceous hips. Chains and medallions of gold and brass hung from her neck in number enough to cover her from collarbone to navel. Every step she took chimed with the sound of metal. Cloth hung from the hem of her pants, intricately embroidered with symbols that made no sense. But that did not matter. It was impossible to look anywhere but her.

 Her usual face-paint was abandoned in favor of a style Loki had never seen before, with a nearly black-rust-red adorning the space beneath both of her eyes, winged twice down her cheeks. The same color darkened the entirety of her upper lip, but only very center of her full lower lip, and traced down her chin, lining all the way down her throat to end with a dagger’s point at the crux of her throat. Her ears were heavy with ornamentation, and her hair was styled in a wild array of leather, feathers and braids. She looked like a harem-slave on the way to be gifted to some King.

  _I am a King. She is –_

 Keshaara turned to the servant-girl behind her, Dόmhildr, if Loki remembered correctly. Even the girl was dressed differently, garbed in supple black leathers, dark makeup smeared from ear to ear, across her eyes and the bridge of her nose. Dόmhildr looked…dangerous, for a servant girl, her hair pulled up and away from her face in a severe style that was as wild as Keshaara’s own. It did not matter that Dόmhildr only came to Keshaara’s shoulder. When they walked together it was clear that they were relics from a land long removed from them. There was intention in the way Keshaara’s hips swung heavily with each step.

 Even if Loki was trying to disguise his interest in this new form Keshaara took, there was no way to look anywhere but her hips. Norns they were on display, unclothed and lewd. He could watch the play and pull of her skin over bone as she strutted through the hushed crowd, Dόmhildr following mere footsteps behind her, the servant-girl’s skin covered from wrist to neck to ankle. Where Keshaara was exposed, Dόmhildr was curiously covered. The contrast made it even more sinful.

 There was silence in the feasting hall, and Loki could only watch as Keshaara’s tongue slid across her teeth. Her moth was half open, her chin was tucked just slightly down and every step she made was promising pain and sensuality. It was not an exaggeration to say that Loki could taste the arousal on the air. Anyone who beheld her would have felt the stir of desire start in their loins, and Loki who had had her wrapped around him was far from an exception. Sitting was agony.

 Those gathered parted before her, allowing her to pass by them. Men and women alike raked her body with their eyes. No one dared breathe in her presence. Keshaara commanded the space around her with absolute certainty. Despite the outright lasciviousness of what she was wearing and how she was walking and how she was setting bodies aflame with nothing more than a sidelong glance out of those burning orange eyes, Keshaara gave no outward indication that she was willing to engage in any sort of misbehavior. In fact, when an errant hand strayed towards her hip, Dόmhildr was there in a moment, snapping the wrist with a savage twist and snarl. She had moved like sinuous smoke, interposing her body in between the observer and Keshaara.

 The collected people hissed in unison as the offender fell to their knees, cradling a shattered wrist to a chest that bore a heart that still sang for Keshaara. Keshaara made no move to chastise her companion, but reached for Dόmhildr’s hand to check for any injuries to her companion.

 “Deftly done, Dόmhildr, but next time, keep your elbows closer to your hips. I would hate for you to give yourself a rotational fracture in my defense,” Keshaara said, her voice gruff and low, but soothing.

 Loki damn near cursed aloud. He knew that voice, he knew it from in between breathless moans, he knew it in how she had said his name around her inflammatory curses, he knew it in how she had talked to him not hours before. Oh yes, he knew that voice, that tone, and it all flooded straight to his cock, already painfully hard for want of her. Hels, it did not even have to be her – he just _wanted_.

 Keshaara dipped her head to touch her lips to the first knuckle of Dόmhildr’s left index finger, a chastisement enough, apparently, as Dόmhildr ducked her head in apology.

 The two women swept past the gathered attendees, heading towards a less-populated corner of the feast hall. They could have easily walked there directly from the entrance, for now their path needed to meander more than was entirely necessary, but Keshaara’s smile told Loki enough of what he needed to know. She had wanted the room to behold her, to watch her walk past them, and walk onwards.

 If she was a kind woman, she would have walked straight to Loki and placed herself neatly in his lap before smearing her careful face-markings all over his skin. If she was a kind woman, she would let him fuck her against the table. It wasn’t uncommon – even if it was not exactly _common_ – for such things to happen and the ferocity and strength of his urge made it seem like a much better idea than it was. Loki could also tell with a surge of possessiveness that he was not the only being contemplating the same thing. They were watching her.

 Keshaara had put herself entirely on display, from the lean muscle that danced beneath her skin, tightening and loosening and leaving no impression on what it would look like to have that back arch in pleasure, to the soft, insistent chiming of the jewelry she wore that only made it impossible to ignore her movements, even if one’s eyes were not on her. She was a feast as much as the food was, and the oddness, the exotic behavior, the unflinching composure made her that much more…

 “ _Fuck,_ ” Loki hissed under his breath as Fandral downed his mead and approached her, standing at a appreciable distance from her, and carefully making sure he did not reach for her.

 Loki’s blood burned star-bright in his veins as Fandral and Keshaara talked. Keshaara faced him openly, squaring her shoulders to his, and damn near presenting herself to him. Dόmhildr was a constant at Keshaara’s side, her face painted quite similarly to what Keshaara usually had worn in Skyrim, though the colors were completely different. Dόmhildr wore blue on her face, which made the ordinarily rather plain servant-girl’s features stand out in sharp relief. Dόmhildr looked at Keshaara with something akin to worship and Loki had to fight hard to keep his lip from curling in derision. As if Dόmhildr would have any notion of how to worship Keshaara as was needed _, please_. Loki was the only person he could trust to properly -

 Fandral stepped closer to Keshaara, who was talking animatedly, her mouth pulled into a wide grin. She even reached out to brush a line down Fandral’s cheek (a demonstration, an explanation, anything but intimate), her smile never leaving her face. Keshaara was open, and even from this distance, Loki could tell she was doing nothing but telling the absolute truth, even if she was biting her words into small pieces, translating out of a language no one had ever heard here.

 Sif stood closer than Fandral did, Keshaara moving closer to Sif than she had to Fandral, practically invading the woman’s personal space, but it only took a few hushed words, and Sif relaxed completely, looking to Keshaara with adoration and absolute interest. Loki wanted to approach, to interrupt whatever moment was being shared over there, and have her look at him, have Keshaara focus on him, but almost as if she sensed his intent, Keshaara’s brilliant orange eyes flicked towards him.

 Her eyes narrowed and a decidedly nasty sneer twisted her lips. Loki, nearly mid-rise from his chair, sat back down very quickly. That was not the face of a woman who wanted him to approach her. He watched her eyes narrow threateningly, and nearly flushed as those around her turned to look at him as well. Keshaara was quick to tear their attention back to her own actions, but Loki felt unsettled.

 There was vitriol he had not expected from her in those eyes. Poison, bright and orange and menacing, had been unmasked in that stare, and then directed at _him_ of all people. Certainly she was not still upset? He had not…she had told him to leave, but her temper had always been mercurial. She had been upset but not so much so that she would…right?

 Loki’s cock hardly cared though. He was still blisteringly aroused, and it did not matter that she now refused to look at him, even as he stole glances at Keshaara as she moved, still moving through the feast, drawing attention to herself like the sun, exotic and breathtaking. Norns, he wanted her. Her spurious behavior, damn it all, made him want her eyes on him all over again. Even if she was cursing him, he – like damn near everyone else in the feasting hall, apparently, wanted her attention on him.

 Only him.

  _Damn it why was she talking with Fandral still?_

 She was still not standing overly close to Fandral, not like she had with Sif, but still closer than Loki wanted. Loki wanted nothing more than to pull Keshaara away from them all. She was _his_ Champion. His. **His**.

 Keshaara did not seem to care. She was having fun. She was talking amicably with everyone, with Dόmhildr at her side, tending to her needs as she had been taught to. There were subtle signals in the undercurrent of her conversation. Dόmhildr was a spy, after all, and easily could pay attention to the gesture that meant “I would like mead”, when it was layered with “Block this person from coming closer” and “I will be walking that way shortly” and react accordingly, interspersing herself in between Keshaara and the interloper by fetching a slender goblet of mead and moving _with_ Keshaara as she walked somewhere else.

 Keshaara drank heavily, enjoying the heady honeyed taste and how it settled on her tongue. She ate sparingly, in the style of Ashlanders, forgoing utensils and eating with her hands, licking her fingers clean. If it so happened she made eye contact with Fandral as her tongue curled around her fingers, that was merely…happy circumstance. She delighted in his flushed cheeks and suddenly wooden tongue. The mead made her world glitter and sing into her ears, and the food was better by the drink.

 She chatted pleasantly, not bothering to work on obscuring her lilting accent. She had a decent buzz, a happy purr rumbling in her throat, making her words loop and tilt as they came out of her mouth and painted the air. She was an Ashlander of Morrowind, a Nord of Skyrim, and her words were beauty and power all at once.

 Dόmhildr broke another man’s wrist as he dared reach for the dimples of her back, the dips of her hip, before his fingers could ever touch her skin. Keshaara was vaguely aware of the man spitting curses at Dόmhildr, because he was Keshaara’s intended and she had accepted his courtship so he was _entitled_ to _touch_. Her magic hummed happily, twisting into the shape of a dagger and digging into the man’s chest.

 Her smile never falters.

 “I am an Ashlander. I am Mabrigash. I am Ashkhan of my circle. You will not touch me without my permission. I outrank you, and Dόmhildr is of my home. If you offer insult to her, I will spread your innards across the nearest altar to my ancestor as penalty. Consider our courtship ended. Now leave.”

 The man had backed up as she spoke, more to avoid the tip of the summoned blade digging into his chest than Keshaara advancing on him. Blood stained his fine clothing, and he hastily fled the feast, pressing a hand to the shallow wound.

 The blade vanished out of her hand, and she gracefully turned to Dόmhildr again.

 “Are you unharmed, housecarl mine?”

 “I am, Thane.”

 “Good. You have done well.”

 And with that, Dόmhildr fetched her another goblet of mead, and Keshaara went back to her discussion. There was pleasantries unending as the conversations continued, and slowly, throughout the evening, Fandral was allowed closer and closer, finding that Dόmhildr would occasionally put herself in between the two of them if he came too close to her, but as the evening wore on, she came closer to him, and he was allowed closer to her. When he hesitantly (watching Dόmhildr very very very carefully) brushed her elbow with the back of his hand, and Keshaara allowed it, offering him a warm smile.

 Fandral beamed at her and came closer with her physical invitations and flirtations. His eyes traced the movements of her fingers as she talked and ate, and it was not long before a pale blush danced across his cheeks again.

 She continued drinking, enjoying the evening and easily ignoring Loki sitting in his corner. She knew he was watching her, his eyes were practically burning holes through her, watching every inch of her exposed flesh (Divines, no one had seen the insult in her walking around unclothed –they were less than no threat to her how could they not _see_ that she had no idea) carefully as she carried about being a walking insult to all of Asgard.

 Keshaara allowed her socializing to take the slightest bit longer before politely excusing herself. Dόmhildr watched her leave, knowing that her task was now to stay behind and manage the questions that would come now that Keshaara was out of sight. This was the fun part of her evening, the collection of rumors and murmurings to present to Frigga and Keshaara later. She was enjoying this immensely, rather liking the oddity of it all. It was perverse in its own way. Keshaara was walking around nearly naked, in an affront to every last rule of etiquette in Asgard, and everyone was taking it in stride.

 No one questioned her.

 The way she walked, the confidence – the dominance she exuded was enough to still tongues. It was a skill Dόmhildr envied.

 Fandral, after a few minutes, and encouragement from the others around him (and liquid encouragement from the bottle of mead he pulled off the table and cradled beneath his arm), followed after her.

 Loki stared, looking as if he were four seconds from rushing Fandral and ripping his head off his shoulders. Dόmhildr smiled broadly. So that was…interesting. Very interesting. Certainly Keshaara knew of this, and if what she had been hearing in the echoes of the palace were true…

  _Deftly done, my Thane_ , she thought, smiling broadly at the raven-haired prince.


	24. Matask

The Tale of the Dragonborn

The Tale of the Jotun Prince

* * *

 

 

Keshaara was looking out over the city. Her legs hung over the lip of the balcony of her room, the banisters broken away to allow her an unobstructed view of Asgard. She had pulled her multitude of furs out of her pouch and arranged them around her. She had also stripped all of the plush pillows and blankets from her bed to further plump up the nest she was making, and was currently laying across them. Luxuriating in the warmth, she cradled a bottle of mead in her arm. She had been drinking ever since she had gotten back to her room, reaching for her own stash to augment the asgardian mead.

 She was not going to drink all of her mead though. It was maybe some of the last home-mead she would ever taste. She was far from Nirn and Mundus. She was so far away.

 The thoughts were coming back, so she drank until they were gone again, her head spinning and her mouth sticky with the cloying taste of honey-mead. Asgard glittered, even at night. The moon’s light reflected off of the gilded buildings and rushing man-made streams. There were sounds of quiet parties, and louder parties, and in the background, the constant _hush_ of moving water.

 If she let her keen eyes stare out far into the distance, past the great, tall buildings and sweeping spires, Keshaara could see the unblemished mountains. She wanted to be there, instead of _here_. Here was stuffy, overpopulated and overworked. It rankled her.

 She drank until the irritation faded.

 She drank until she could not feel anything but mild annoyance at the knots in her back, and then drank until those knots undid themselves. She was well and truly intoxicated and liked the buzzing feeling of it all.

 There was a knock at her door. Keshaara dropped her head back onto the pile of blankets to regard the door upside-down. She had the huge doors that lead out to her balcony from the ‘public’ area of her rooms open wide, and when she harrumphed a “What?” at the entrance to her rooms, her voice carried far enough to alert the guards that they should announce whoever was at the door.

 “Sir Fandral is here to converse with you.”

 “Lettim in then.”

 The door opened almost immediately, and Fandral strode in, cradling more mead in his arms _(excellent)_. He looked around for a moment, searching for her. Keshaara lifted her hand in greeting, waving him over to her. Fandral blinked at her odd position, but advanced anyway.

 “Lady Keshaara, it’s good to see you.”

 “And you, Fandral. Sit. I am watching your Asgard and drinking, and it looks as if you have the requisite pieces to do the same.”

 He complied, looking at her oddly, but pleased to be allowed so close.

 Keshaara did not say much for a long while, drinking out of her bottle of mead as Fandral watched her. He only took sips of his mead as Keshaara took long, draining pulls. He watched her body language change as she relaxed into the pile of furs they shared, her body edging closer to his by fractions.

 “Keshaara, you looked beautiful tonight,” he offered after a long while, turning his body towards her.

 “I offered insult to Asgard and you compliment my beauty. Thank you.”

 Fandral snorted.

 “I figured. You had your servant-”

 “Her name is Dόmhildr.”

 “Dόmhildr, you had her dressed in leather armor, and you in nothing. That was pretty well indicative that something was wrong, either with how she was dressed, or how you were dressed.”

 “Hmmnnh.”

 “So, was that an act, or is it-”

 “It was not an act. I meant to insult. I am an Ashlander. To insult outsiders is to us, as ostentatious capes are to you.”

 She wasn’t expecting Fandral to snort ungracefully, only to cover his mouth moments after and look to her, with his eyes wide.

 “Oh, my Lady, accept my apologies, I had not meant any-”

 “Be quiet Fandral. I accept no apology because none is needed.”

 He stared at her, his eyes narrowing just slightly, as he gauged her reaction to see if she was stating things truly. Keshaara met his gaze evenly. After a few moments, his suspicion gave way to mirth and he laughed, long and freely. Keshaara returned his smile, but did not laugh.

 She sipped at her mead again, and turned her gaze out over Asgard. When Fandral’s laughter calmed, he followed her movement, sighing happily and almost (almost) wiggling deeper into the warmth of the furs. Keshaara did not so much as have to turn her head to tell that the view was a superb one, as Fandral sighed again, drinking from his own bottle of mead.

 “Did Skyrim have anything like this?” Fandral said wistfully, gesturing to the majesty of Asgard.

 “Thank the Divines, no, we did not. We had cities of wood and stone, cities built and breathing still. Asgard is cold.”

 Fandral looked at her as if she had just insulted his Lady Mother.

 “Asgard is the pinnacle of-”

 “Asgard is cold. I come from a land of ice and snow, where the ground is frozen and the people are tough. I come from a land of smoke and fire, where the earth is barren and the sky is orange. I tell you, Asgard is colder and harsher to my senses than either of those places. It is not home. It is not the warmth of wood or the rasp of wool, it is not the cool scent of juniper or the cloying sweetness of mead. This place is foreign to me, and I will not hear that somehow, this place is better than the land I lived in for four hundred and seventy three years.”

 Her words were sharp, but Keshaara’s voice was soft, resigned. Fandral’s expression melted from insult to understanding, and he hesitantly edged closer to her.

 “Tell me about Skyrim, then. I want to know about it.”

 Keshaara looked at him, her sadness still lingering in her eyes.

 “If you were not so mistrustful of my magic, I would show you. Using my words, as good with linguistics as I am, does not do due diligence to what Skyrim is, and what it was to me.”

 She looked back to the mountain she could hardly see through the glitter of Asgard.

 “Please. Show me.”

 Keshaara hardly needed any more encouragement than that. She did not even bother with a grandiose sweep of her arm – between the span of a moment and the next, her magic had flowed from her to create a panel of illusion in front of the both of them. With all the care and precision she had maintained throughout the years, the glittering magic twisted and folded upon itself until a perfect replica of Skyrim was lain before their eyes.

 “This is Skyrim. That is Morrowind,” she said, pointing to the ashen nation. “Morrowind was always home, but I only was privileged with twenty years there. I was taken, and bound to Skyrim. I could not leave.”

 And so her story went, the illusion flickering between scenes of her life before Loki. She narrated sparingly, and Fandral was kind enough to not interrupt her. He merely watched. Her illusions were meticulous, displaying images that seemed almost too perfect to be real, playing over her favored memories, reconstructed in magic. When Loki appeared in the illusion, as she had first seen him, spitting angry, pale, gaunt and dirty, Fandral did not so much as flinch.

 From there, the images sped up, glossing over the more intimate moments of her and Loki’s relationship in Skyrim. She showed Fandral the battle in Nchuand-Zel, the way they had fought together against Harkon, how they had nearly died together. She showed him a briefly edited version of the last few days they had spent together, with a unwittingly lingering moment at the last time she had seen Loki before Jyggalag had taken him from her, not telling Fandral the words that had been spoken, or the hope that had been given and then dashed against the stones.

 After that point…there were only a few scenes that were played out – her first, and only born son as Farkas handed her the squalling baby wrapped in embroidered furs. Her appointment as Archmage, her adopted children, each brought across the threshold of the home she shared with Farkas and her son, wrapped in the same embroidered fur, her children growing older, her wildfire-eyed son growing tall and lean, aging and becoming a father himself. Her granddaughter, first as a beautiful baby, and then as the crowned High Queen alongside her husband. Oh, the memories flickered and faded from there. There was blood and misery, and with a sneer, Keshaara dismissed her magic.

 Fandral and her sat in comfortable silence for a while after that, each nursing their own bottle of mead. Keshaara drank her bottle empty and placed it outside of the pile of furs. Her drunkenness had never progressed past buzzing in her ears and making bad ideas seem like really good ones.

 One idea lead to her propping herself up on one elbow before rolling herself up and over Fandral, straddling him quickly and efficiently with a half-smile. Fandral looked up at her, his eyes wide. She had not really changed out of her outfit from the party, so he was afforded a particularly close-up view of her muscled form. The hardness she felt between his legs told her everything she needed to know about what he felt about the situation. She did nothing so crass as to grind down onto him, not when the confusion in his eyes was overwhelming the arousal he clearly felt.

 “Keshaara?”

 “Mmm,” she purred, dipping her head down to nuzzle at his neck.

 Divines, was he different from Loki. He had well-kept facial hair, for one. Loki was ever so particular about his own stubble, which did not usually bother Keshaara in the slightest, but the rasp of Fandral’s almost-beard against her skin was delightfully different. He was built much differently from Loki as well, his jaw and cheekbones not nearly as well-defined, his hands so much more different…it was new and fresh and Divines did she want it to be exciting.

 “Lady Keshaara,” he continued, his voice deepened with desire.

 “Sir Fandral,” she replied, running her hands down his fine armor.

 “When was it that you fell in love with Loki?”

 

* * *

 

Loki had taken a while to find his feet, and drank far more than his fair share of mead in the interim. He was summarily ignored by the rest of the party, which was a blessing because he was in no mood to talk with anyone, let alone interact in a way that would not have his mother coming after him.

He was not stumbling, no not really. It was just that Asgard was suffering from a series of earthquakes and it was making it very difficult for him to walk without tipping. That was all. He wasn’t stumbling because he wasn’t drunk. Nope, not drunk. Not at all drunk.

 The floor buckled beneath him and he slid sideways into a column. The stability was welcome – the earthquakes stopped up as soon as he was up against that pillar. But he still had to get to Keshaara. Fandral had undoubtedly upset her by now, sent him out and away from her, so he needed to go and…and…

 Loki shook his head.

 He had maybe had too much to drink. His thoughts were slippery, even to himself. That was indeed odd for him. He was so often in command and control of everything about himself that this mental fog was downright confusing. He drank, just as everyone in Asgard did, but this was the first night in a long while where he was considering his last few goblets of mead as enemies instead of friends.

 But he still had to go find Keshaara. Tell her…stuff. Things. _Important_ things. Yeah, he had to talk to her about things. Tell her that he needed her to do something else. Someone. She needed to know. Yes.

 He got his feet back underneath him and carried on. Keshaara’s rooms were not so much further. He could get there. He _was_ there already!

 The guards let him in without any announcement. Keshaara had allowed him into her room, given them orders and all that. Loki just usually did not come and visit through the front door. He liked sneaking around too much for that.

 He looked around for her, his gaze drawn first to the balcony, where a pile of furs lay, unoccupied, but still inviting. Was she not here? Perhaps she had run off like she had threatened to do.

 Loki discarded that thought when he saw her belt-pouch still sitting on one of the many hip-level surfaces in the public foyer. What fun it would be to bend Keshaara forward and backward over those…oh it would be wonderful. Where was she? Maybe there would be a few bruises, but that was not unusual for their trysts. He could still feel the bruise between his shoulderblades from where she had pushed him up against the lip of the baths as they had fucked. It was a good burn. A nice bruise.

 He heard voices, low and muttering, coming from her bedroom. Loki, of course, moved to investigate, curious about it all. He opened the door to her dimly, _romantically_ lit bedroom, supporting himself on the carved wooden doorframe as he turned his gaze towards her bed. Norns, she should be just there, waiting for hi-

 “Oh, _fuck_.”

 Fandral scrambled away from Keshaara, or at least attempted to. Keshaara wrapped her leg around his waist and pulled him back into her, down onto the bed. He had to stoop to accommodate her – they were only just barely on the bed, her hips at the edge of the mattress, with their legs entangled. Her lips were plump and flush with blood, and she had the dusting of desire’s blush across her cheeks.

 “Keshaara, it’s Loki, he’s here, I need to – I should - ”

 Loki did not know what to do. He…his mind couldn’t formulate anything. Fandral was on top of Keshaara, his armor half-undone, his hair mussed, with a hand that Keshaara was insistently tugging back to her breast, even as she arched her back underneath him and pressed desperate kisses to the underside of his jaw. Norns above it should not be so alluring to see her like that. Fandral pulled away again.

 “Loki’s _here_ , Keshaara you need to – need to-”

 She silenced Fandral with a kiss, pulling his mouth down to hers with nearly brutal efficiency. The half-silenced moan was all Fandral’s, and he aborted his effort to get away from her. His hand slid down into the small of her back, pulling her up into him, her bare skin sliding across the metal of his ceremonial armor.

 “Let him watch then. He enjoys watching. Don’t stop, Fandral.”

 Loki’s mouth went dry, and he swore that Keshaara looked directly at him. If he hadn’t already been half-aroused by then, he was now. By no means did he want to look away, but he was not entirely sure he wanted the two of them to continue. Fandral seemed to take Keshaara’s statement into consideration though, and leaned back down over her, kissing her into the bared bed.

 Loki shifted from foot to foot, not entirely sure what should happen. He maybe was a little drunk because he could not make any manner of decision. Should he sit and watch? Leave? Tear Fandral off of her and demand _he_ leave? The last one seemed best.

 Fandral dipped his head down to her left collarbone, pressing soft, gentle kisses into the skin there. When his mouth opened to nip at the sensitive flesh – when Keshaara’s back bent and she gasped _his_ name, **then** Loki moved.

 He did not remember pulling Fandral away, or what words he snarled at the blonde, even as Keshaara mewled her displeasure behind his back. He did not remember Fandral adjusting his clothes and armor, nor what he said, or anything else. No, all he could see was Fandral putting his teeth in her shoulder, over a scar he knew was there, dusted with red, red rage in his memory, and he could not – he could not – he could _not_ let Fandral do that.

 When Fandral was gone, and the two of them were alone in the room, he finally turned back to Keshaara. She still bore a blush high on her cheeks and all the way down the center of her chest. The small, simple top she wore was mussed, pulled just slightly out of place, enough to expose the curve of the underside of the breast, enough to expose a pale yellow bruise that Loki knew was from _his_ mouth. She regarded him with eyes that were dark with unbridled desire, but he did not move to embrace her.

 “Are you going to just stand there, Loki? You’ve already rather ruined my evening.”

 Her voice was breathy and gruff with arousal. There was another emotion hidden in her words, a secret one, but he was too intoxicated to taste out what it could have been. Loki couldn’t formulate a response right away, too focused on the maelstrom of feeling blooming inside of him. He alternated rapidly between fury and desire, not sure which feeling was more appropriate, not sure why he had even bothered chasing Fandral off, certain he had missed something in how Fandral had smirked at him as he had turned away.

 “Fine, fuck it. If you’re just going to be a tit and trying to keep me from enjoying my evening, I’m going to enjoy it _anyway_ just to _spite_ you.”

 It took him a while to process what happened next. Keshaara wiggled further back on her bed, her hair splayed out on the remaining purple sheets. Her back arched up, and she ran her hands up and down the length of her torso. She cupped her breasts, kneading them gently, slipping her hands underneath the cloth to better feel the texture of her own skin. A soft gasp slipped from between her lips, but that was rather quickly overcome by the sound of her hands sliding lower, beneath the hem of her pants, down and down so she could cup her own sex and tease herself with the tips of her fingers. Her knees were hanging off the edge of her bed still, and she lifted one leg up to allow her fingers better access to where she needed them.

 One hand on her breast, the other lazily edging her closer to orgasm, and Keshaara was just fine with the turn in her evening. Loki, on the other hand, felt a familiar surge of jealousy flash into existence. someone else had gotten her this aroused, someone else had brought her to this point, and now she was acting as if he was not there at all. How dare Fandral leave her like this? More importantly – how dare he bring her to this state in the first place? That was his job. She was his – his Champion, his friend, _his_. Her eyes were closed to better appreciate what she was doing to her body, so when she felt a hand wrap around the wrist of the hand she was using to pleasure herself, the sudden jerk of her body was born of startlement.

 “No you are not.”

 “Well, how about you go fuck yo-?”

 He cut her question off with a kiss, pressing himself down onto her, pulling her legs apart with his other hand so that he could push himself up against her. Keshaara made a noise of surprise, of anger and confusion, but Loki was already pulling away.

 “Not without me,” he growled, his voice lilting with alcohol’s influence.

 She opened her mouth to object to how he was acting, even if she was not sure if she was more upset with him stopping, or him starting, but the objection died a piteous death when she watched him lick and lave at her fingers, tasting the thin liquid there. Keshaara’s entire body stilled, and her breath froze in her throat. His tongue danced into the spaces between her fingers, licking off every possible droplet of her own arousal from her skin. Slowly, he released her hand, licking his lips to ensure that nothing escaped his taste.

 When he leaned down to kiss her again, she was far more amendable to the idea, pulling him closer to her with both of her hands. He was pulling at the hem of her pants, and she lifted her hips to help him get them off of her. Clothing was overrated anyway. Loki was so much better when their skin was pressed together.

 Her pants were pulled away, thrown off in some corner of her room. Keshaara gasped expectantly, pulling on his sleeves, whining when his clothing remained in place. He slid down her body, kissing constellations onto her skin. Keshaara bucked her hips, trying to get him to come back up and kiss her again, begging for him to take his clothes off and _get on with it_.

 The smile he gave her, the face-splitting, self-assured, devious smile made her swear and arch her back up into him again. He kissed lower, pulling her back towards the edge of the mattress by her hips, until her legs were hanging off the edge of the bed, and her hips were just barely on the bed. Loki knelt, then, spreading her legs wide. Keshaara sat up, momentarily confused because her alcohol-addled brain was wondering if he had dropped something.

 She collapsed back onto the bed when he pressed his tongue to her cunt.

 “Lo- _oh_ -o-oki- _i_! **Fuck**!”

 Never had his name had so many syllables, Loki thought, smiling as he opened his mouth to the slightly salt-bitter taste of her. Part of him acknowledged the taste as mildly unpleasant, but everything else in him sang of how incomprehensibly delicious she was. This was the taste of Keshaara. This was how wet she was for him, this was her gasping and writing beneath him, struggling with even the two syllables of his name.

 Her fingers twisted in his hair, pushing him down against her as she ground herself against his face. She invoked the Divines in between calling his name, but it was not enough for him. He needed to hear more.

 He licked and laved at her outer lips, nuzzling her sensitive clit with his nose. When he finally let his tongue venture inside of her, she _screamed_ , her thighs clamping around his head.

 Oh he _liked_ this.

 He let a finger take the place of his tongue inside her wet, wet cunt, as he moved his tongue up, pressing it flat against her clit and alternating between applying pressure and relieving it. Keshaara’s own tongue babbled languages, the volume only growing steadily higher as she arched and bucked and cursed. Her breaths could only come in broken gasps, but he liked that too.

 “Loki, Loki, Lo _ki_ , Lo-oh-ki, **_Loki_**!”

It was a mantra. Norns, it was her mantra because of what he was doing. Her arousal was his arousal and it burned his core. He did not want to stop. He was not going to stop, even as she screamed his name again, and again and again. He sealed his lips over her engorged clit, flicking his tongue across the oversensitive bundle of nerves, sucking lightly, and then with fervor, even as his fingers (plural, now, he couldn’t help it) plunged into her. Keshaara was howling, her nails clawing at his scalp, pulling on his hair, screaming louder and louder with everything he did.

She came, and came, and came again, each time screaming his name to her divinities, nearly pulling his hair out by the roots, vainly trying to bring her knees together around Loki’s head. Her voice echoed in his head, he could not hear anything but her rapturous screaming and he did not particularly care if everyone in the entirety of the Nine Realms heard her. Actually, he wanted everyone in the Realms to hear her. He wanted everyone to know that Keshaara, Thuri Dovahkiin, Champion and Hero and everything wonderful, was _his_. His name rolled off her tongue, his name was her benediction.

 Ah, but his clothing was starting to be uncomfortable. The heat that nestled within Keshaara had spread to him, and his clothing chafed him with its heaviness. He wanted to be pressed flush against her heat. His clothing was claustrophobic, closing him in, and all he wanted was to feel her skin pressed against his. She would burn him from the outside in, and the scars would be his greatest accomplishment.

 Loki started disrobing as best he could with only one hand free, yanking at his collar, his belts (damn, so many belts and clasps, _fuck_ ), struggling with his pants to try and get himself free. He just needed – he just wanted – she was so close – she tasted so good – he just had to – almost –

 “Fuck, _Loki_ ,” Keshaara gasped as his teeth nipped at her, grinding herself against his face again, not caring that it was wanton or desperate. Because she was both.

 Loki could only moan in response as she pressed her fingers into the base of his skull, pulling his hair, commanding him to shove his face deeper into her cunt. Norns did he love her dominating streak, almost as much as he loved how she was trying to ride his face. He did not care that he could feel her wetness dripping off his chin, only that he had missed having those droplets in his mouth.

 Norns, it was hard to keep his mouth on her and get out of his clothing. He had to force himself to take his hand away from pleasuring her in order to unfasten his trousers. Loki was hard ( _hah_ ) pressed to think of any moment in his existence where he had been more fucking aroused than he was right then. He felt like he was four seconds from exploding out of his skin, but he couldn’t do that just yet. Not yet.

 It was impossible to get some of his clothing off – his leather overcoat, no problem. His collars and straps, etched in gold? Handled. His vambraces, the leather of which was soaked through with Keshaara’s sweet juices and he was more than certain would never _not_ smell like her again? Those took a bit of fumbling, but they were thrown to the side momentarily. He got out of everything except his boots, trousers, and undershirt. There was no way to pull his shirt over his head without taking his mouth away from where it needed to be in order to keep Keshaara screaming, and a quickly aborted attempt to unlace his boots told him that there would be none of that happening right then.

 He just needed her. More of her. He fisted one hand around his too-hard cock, taking only a moment to pull away (she _keened_ ) to swipe a hand across his face, collecting the liberal juices that his ministrations had graced him with, slicking his palm with her arousal before plunging his face and lips and tongue back into her cunt (she _moaned_ ), and wrapping his hand back around his own arousal and fucking his fist with all the fervor he wished he could be fucking her with.

 Norns, if he could keep his mouth on her and also have her bounce on his cock - that would be perfection. His brain sluggishly suggested he use his magic, but there was no way that he could even think to start a spell and trust that it would hold without exploding this entire half of the palace. Another time. Another time he’d ask Keshaara to show him what she had done to his spell and wrap it around them both. Another time he’d summon clones unending and dedicate every last one of them to bringing her to screaming orgasm after screaming orgasm. Another time.

 Her hands were no longer in his hair. He could barely see anything other than the wide, long, lean expanse of her hips, but as he looked out past her hips (past her breasts, oh, but he wanted to stare at those longer because she had pushed the flimsy material up her torso and every arch and twist of her back sent them to bouncing and _that_ was damn near hypnotic) to where her hands were fisted in the sheets. White knuckles on dusty tan skin looked just so so so good.

 He was kissing her before he realized he was moving, swallowing her sweet moans as he pressed his chest to hers. Keshaara growled when she felt the rasp of his shirt against her flesh, and grabbed his collar. With a snarl, she tore the shirt off his shoulders, and the rest of his clothes were thrown to the four corners of her room, leaving him naked and pressed up against her.

 “Divines, _yes_ , Loki!” she screamed as his cock pressed up against her thigh. “Divines, _fuck me_ with that magnificent cock of yours, fill me – _ah-hnnnnn!_ ”

 Loki did not need much encouraging. He plunged deep into her, and when he found the angle – with her legs hanging off the bed, and him, forced to stand – a little too awkward, he pulled out of her, accompanied by profuse cursing from the both of them. He grabbed her by the hips and pushed her further up the bed. Keshaara moved quickly, scrambling backwards and pulling Loki up with her by his hair. He obliged her, moving up to kiss her again, dipping his head down. His entire body echoed the movement until it was a single, long, undulation. When their hips kissed each other, the flesh just barely touching, they groaned.

 “Loki I swear if you don’t hurry up and fuck me proper, I am going to-”

 The rest of her sentence was lost in a scream that shook the heavens of Asgard as Loki thrust inside of her once again. His pace was brutal. They were both so close, so very close all over again, and Loki needed to – he needed to cum inside of her. He needed that sensation of release that he only truly felt with her. He buried his head in the crook of her neck, over the half-healed bitemark from the evening before. Without thinking, he mouthed the mark, licking it in time with his thrusts.

 Keshaara’s nails raised welts down his arms as she only screamed the louder.

 It was her skin that first turned blue, to her very deep shock. She gasped in time with Loki, who shirked his Aesir form as soon as he saw hers.

 “Fucking _Princes_ , Loki, you feel – you fe- _heh-he_ -eel!”

 “I would remind you, you are fucking a Prince,” Loki hissed as he felt his Jotun form shift further and further and further towards where his body would be if he were not constantly choosing to be Aesir.

 Keshaara choked her pleasure out as she felt his cock shift inside of her. Loki was by no means below-average when it came to his length and girth already, but as their skin deepened to a darker blue, and ridges raised up out of flesh, she swore she could feel him swelling up more and more inside of her, filling her cunt absolutely full of his cock. She could hardly breathe, she felt so full. She most have babbled something to that effect, because Loki stilled his movements, and pulled her close.

 He licked at that bite mark on her shoulder. He licked at it and laved at it, and pressed hungry kisses into it even as he muttered some strange language she had not heard before. His stillness only made her more acutely aware of how _full_ of _Loki_ she was, and it was not very long before she was twisting and whining underneath him, begging him to move.

 Loki obliged, first drawing his cock out of her, agonizingly slowly, grunting at the change in feeling now that he wasn’t buried in her heat, and then pushing himself back inside with a low, long, groan.

 “Divines-”

 “Norns-”

 “ _Loki-_ ”

 “ _Kesh-_ ”

 She flipped him onto his back with a very quick series of movements. He made a startled sound, but when she sank back down onto him, her blue skin meeting with his, he moaned. Keshaara started off slow, still relishing every last miniscule point of connection between them. This new form (Loki looked different than his Jotun form had before – more ridges, more pronounced scars, the start of what could have been horn-protrusions starting above his brow, and she _felt_ different than she had before) was incredibly satisfying, and the _stretch_ she felt inside of her set every nerve afire. She was more than certain that she was babbling something incoherent into Loki’s ear, but that hardly mattered to her.

 Keshaara wanted to take it slow, she wanted to savor it, but she found herself fucking him frantically within moments. She pinned his hands up by his head and rode him. Divines did she ride him. She threw her head back and screamed as soon as Loki started to thrust up into her. Her back bent in a bow, and she pressed her forehead to his.

 He thrust into again, bucking her nearly off of his cock before she fell back onto it with a scream. Keshaara dipped her head to the crook of his neck, panting heavily. It was hard to keep track of anything when Loki was fucking her so damned well. Her pleasure spiked and rolled and crescendoed. Her blood thundered in her ears and her plaintive words devolved into high-pitched moans. She did not care if she was being too loud, or if Loki was uncomfortable with hearing her so close to him (Norns, he wasn’t, he wasn’t, he wasn’t), because she was just moments from cumming again and her desperation must have showed because Loki wriggled his hands out of her grasp so he could grab her by the hips and force her to move to the rhythm he dictated.

 She moaned his name, too worked up to object to how he was handling her. Her orgasm curled around the seat of her hips, waiting, coiling tighter and tighter and tighter until she felt like she could barely breathe. There was no possible way for her to manage any sort of rhythm, so she relied on Loki’s guidance. She allowed him to move her, because she could barely form enough thought to breathe, let alone focus on conscious movement.

 Divines above, she felt like she was going to shatter the world with her voice. Every movement Loki made set her body on fire, and she could feel words of power burning the back of her throat. She could not for the eternal life of her, figure out what those words could be but Divines, they were right there.

 Loki pressed a hand into the small of her back, pushing her down until he was completely seated inside of her again. He held her still, even as she whimpered and rocked futilely against him. She ground down, seeking more friction, “Divines _more_ ” friction. Loki grunted and forced himself to stay still. He was so close to cumming, but he did not want this to be over so fast. He did not want this to turn out like all the other times, when they started on each other, only to be done moments later, minutes later – he wanted her to be his for hours. He wanted to have her for hours, to take her to the edge over and over and over again before they collapsed into a singularity, but whenever they started, what could have been sensual sexuality devolved into frenzied fucking and he did not want that right then. Not when she was this shade of blue, not when his hands were skipping over the ridges and valleys of the marks that declared her a worthy partner, not when she was making him feel something so **raw**. He had to slow this down. He had to savor this.

 Keshaara found her voice, and cursed his immobility, writhing in his lap, urging, begging, whining, pleading, desperate for him to move because she could feel her orgasm just out of her reach, it was right there and she craved it because the pleasure was going to blister her from the inside out. It was. She was going to explode and she wanted to. She wanted to milk him, she wanted to feel him cum inside of her. She _needed_ it.

 Loki held her still, huffing as she worked at moving regardless of his holding still. Every small movement she made was going straight to his pleasure-centers. She was going to make him cum without bouncing up and down on him, without him thrusting up into her, without any real effort, and that was not what he wanted.

 Keshaara growled, and bit him, sinking her teeth all the way down to the bone. His blood was cold on her tongue, and for a moment a flash of brilliant orange and gold magic arced through her vision. Loki swore, and snapped his hips up against hers, cumming hard enough to make his vision pinpoint into tiny white stars while simultaneously returning the bite into the old scar (and fresh wound) on her own left shoulder. Keshaara screamed his name in the tongue of dragons into his shoulder, keening desperately as her orgasm exploded into her blood.

 There was a thunderclap of power - of old, ancient magicks that shook the palace and made the night skies above them darken with thunderclouds.

 By the time the two of them came back to themselves, the sounds of rain echoed through the room, hushing the sounds of their labored pants. Two pairs of red eyes regarded each other as Keshaara sat back up, pushing herself up off of Loki’s chest, but not-yet off his cock. Loki ran his hands down her arms, reaching up for just a moment to touch his fingers to the seeping bite-wound on her shoulder. Keshaara panted, swallowing down words that bubbled up at the eback of her throat.

 The rain turned into a downpour, sending a cooling breeze in through the still-open balcony door.

 Loki and Keshaara caught their breath together, each staring at the other, but not wanting to admit that that was what they were doing. No, it was far easier to allow their lips to crook into matching half-smiles, and simultaneously, they leaned into each other to gently butt foreheads. Slowly, the Jotun-blue faded from their skin, the ridges and whorls fading into pale flesh. Whatever odd magic had urged their shapes into those newer forms faded away, leaving them both as they had been before.

 Loki wrapped an arm around her waist and rolled her onto her side, not letting his cock slide out from inside her. He made sure one of her legs remained hooked around his hips, and he pulled her tight to his chest, nuzzling her cheek and neck as he rubbed her back. Her breath tickled his hair, and she wiggled closer, until they were pressed as tightly together as they could manage. Keshaara kissed his cheek over and over and over again until she could feel him smiling.

 He lifted a hand, twisting it artfully to pull the pile of furs and blankets from the balcony to them, dumping them rather unceremoniously over the bed, burying them both in furs.

 Keshaara huffed at him.

 “Ass.”

 He chuckled.

 “Shut up, Kesh. It’s time to sleep and in the morning we’ll talk about this.”

 “ _Drunken, husband-insulting_ ass.”

 “You’re drunk too. And I did not really insult Farkas.”

 “I am Dovahkiin. I don’t get drunk. You’re a spoiled prince. Princes like you are very good at getting drunk, interrupting courtship rituals, and then fucking Dovahkiin. It is known. You called my husband a mongrel, knowing very well he was werewolf. It is counted.”

 Loki rolled his eyes at her and kissed her forehead.

 “You’re a damn terror to deal with, Keshaara. I had meant no critical insult. I spoke out of anger. I should not have said that. Farkas was a good man. But you? You are a horror of a woman.”

 He was careful to make sure his tone indicated the jest he meant. Keshaara grunted.

 “Fuckin’ tell me about it.”

 “You really want me to?”

 “You are not good at pillow talk, Loki. I’m not sure I want you to stay over.”

 “I don’t usually stay around like this. But you have one of the better rooms on this side of the palace. And I’m comfortable, so I’m not going anywhere. _You’re_ free to leave though.”

 “Mm? Really? I’ll go find Fandral then, I guess. I wonder if his bed is comfortable.”

 Loki’s arms tightened around her, and he kissed her soundly. A dark flare of possessiveness lodged in his chest and he was not going to let her leave.

 “Or not. Staying here is good too.”

 He grunted at her, grumbling something she did not catch and pulling her tight to him for emphasis.

 The rain continued, pitter-pattering down on the roof high above them, hushing the world around them, allowing them a comfortable silence after the intense sounds of their…fucking. It was still fucking. There was…it was just nothing else.

 Keshaara fell asleep first, relaxing into his arms, her breath slow and steady. Loki remained awake for a few moments longer, looking at her as she curled into him, her body radiating heat where his did not. The rain outside made the air chill, and her warmth was a welcome soporific. He drifted, and then slept, comfortable and wrapped around Keshaara.


	25. Liggja

The Tale of the Dragonborn

The Tale of the Jotun Prince

* * *

 

 

Dόmhildr was roused the next morning, not by the sound of _someone_ fucking Keshaara against the headboard (again, by the Gods, _again_ \- they kept at it), but by a rather polite knock on the door. After checking to ensure that she was presentable as the, what was the word, housecarl? of Keshaara, she answered. A woman, clearly not of noble lineage stood outside the door, bundles of flowers held in a basket that hung from her arm, and a man behind her holding a smallish, bushy, tree.

 “Hello! The Championess Keshaara asked for these flowers to be delivered to her. I also brought her a tree for her balcony.”

 Dόmhildr frowned.

 “She did not mention anything of the sort to me.”

 “Yes, well I rather expected to have her open the door – she said she would meet me at the door with the final part of the payment and breakfast.”

 “Come in then, I shall wake her.”

 Dόmhildr gestured to the interior of Keshaara’s room, allowing both the florist and her strapping companion entry. The florist moved around, arranging the flowers as she thought best in the various empty vases and bowls, working as if she had been invited into this room before and was perfectly comfortable arranging and rearranging things in Keshaara’s own room. Dόmhildr did her best not to glare, but she was careful to note where everything _had_ been before the florist had come in, in case Keshaara wanted it back the way it was.

 Dόmhildr knocked gently on the door that led to Keshaara’s bedroom, announcing her presence, waiting for a command to wait, and when she heard none, she opened the door.

 “Keshaara, there is a-”

 She stopped cold, the door half-open. There was clothing littering the floor, flung all the way to the door from the bed, some of the more flimsy articles in pieces instead of whole. The color scheme was green, black, and gold, which was not really an uncommon aesthetic, even if it was a little odd. Dόmhildr had thought Fandral had been the one sleeping with her. His colors were ostensibly blue and silver, which seemed to be the exact opposite of what she was seeing. Slowly, she looked to the bed, confused as to what could be awaiting her there -

 Keshaara was stark naked, half-wrapped in furs and sheets and blankets, twined with the paramour who had been keeping her awake all night. Keshaara, feared Champion was curled in his arms, smiling in her sleep, her hair fanned across his shoulder and the pillows beneath her, her neck and shoulders and chest stippled with love-bruises.

 It just so happened that the ‘he’ in question was the raven-haired Prince of Asgard. Gods above, it _was_ Loki. He was marked as she was, reclining gracefully on her bed, naked and barely covered in the sheets. Even he looked…content, with Keshaara in his arms, the tension that Dόmhildr usually associated with him gone completely. The smallest of true smiles pulled at the corner of his mouth, and when her startled gasp roused him, his instinct was to pull Keshaara closer to him, tightening his arms and holding her protectively to his chest.

 His green eyes flicked open, and he searched for the source of the sound, the tension returning as he wound himself up in preparation of defense. Loki saw Dόmhildr, and the shocked look on her face. A lazy, satisfied smile crept across Loki’s face, and…he said nothing. No, Dόmhildr watched as he turned his face back towards Keshaara, holding her tighter to him and pressing a kiss to the crown of her forehead. He pulled a few of the furs higher up around the both of them, curling his body back towards her and promptly…going back to sleep.

 Dόmhildr blinked rapidly, trying to understand what she was seeing and process it accordingly.

  _Well Lady Frigga was not wrong_ , was all she could manage to think. She quickly shut the door and made an apology to the florist and paid whatever exorbitant amount the woman demanded before doing her very best to get the florist and her assistant out of there as fast as possible without them seeing or hearing who was in the next room with the Champion Keshaara.

 The florist was slow to leave, but was, eventually, gone. This left Dόmhildr alone in the room with the both of them just…there. Entwined. After spending a night keeping her half-awake with their assorted noises. Holy hels, she had listened in on one of the Princes and his consort. That was – well it wasn’t good. How was she going to broach this topic with Lady Frigga? Her son was sleeping with a…well Thor was sleeping with the mortal woman so it did not much matter for shock value, but it was still _Loki_ , who was notoriously hushed about anyone he chose to lay with, and who had unabashedly looked her in the eye and done nothing more than that.

 Dόmhildr was at a loss for what to do, and stood in the middle of the large foyer, worrying her hands over and over and over.

 There were no sounds of waking from Keshaara’s bedroom, nothing to indicate that they would be coming out to see her standing there, but Dόmhildr did not want to risk it, especially when she did not know how Keshaara would act. She rushed back to her room, got dressed as fast as she could manage, and nearly ran out of the rooms to seek out the Lady Frigga. There was, apparently, much to talk about.

 

* * *

 

 

Keshaara was…well, she was warm and happy and she felt better than she had in a thousand mornings. The person she was with was holding her protectively, pressing her close to his skin, close enough for her heartbeat to feel his own and shift to beat in time with his. She breathed in sync with him, she curled into him and let his presence and hers merge into one-ness.

Their late-night activities had left her throat sore, and a deep, suffusing warmth in her belly. She felt just the slightest bit sticky too, which was less enjoyable but it happened.

 They would bathe soon enough. For now, it was enough to be entwined with him.

 Loki stirred, turning to pull her closer, and she woke only enough to look up at him, recognize that it was still Loki she was with, before contenting herself with going back to sleep. Loki remained still, even as his consciousness returned to him. He was not entirely certain he wanted to move just yet, not with Keshaara’s naked body curled up against him under the furs of her room. If he didn’t look out the window, it was easy to pretend they were back in Skyrim, in a house of their own design, befitting a King and his Consort.

 He held her closer, not wanting to lose that sensation. Not too quickly, at least. It was easy to sleep, easy to relax, like this. The depth of this sort feeling was new…and different. He was so very much pleased with it though. There was no reason for him to overthink it though – he just felt _better_ with Keshaara in his arms. He was satisfied. Her smell, her touch, the way she curled into him whenever he made a move to shift away from her.

 He waited for Keshaara to wake up on her own. He mayhaps drifted into and out of sleep as well, but it was a light sleep borne of relaxation, not of need. When she finally stirred, he tensed briefly, tightening his grip on her before relaxing once again. He looked down at her, and she, up at him. The smile on her face was soon matched by one on his. She leaned up to kiss his chin, but Loki tilted his head down just enough to catch her lips with his.

 “Good morning, Loki.”

 “And to you, Kesh.”

 She made a move to get up, sitting up slowly, but Loki pulled her back down to –

 “Are you…cuddling me?”

 Loki grunted at her, pulling her tight to him again.

 “It’s cold when you move away.”

 “And now you’re _whining_. Divines above, you are a petulant brat. I need to bathe and I need to eat and I have to get out of this bed to do both.”

 She wiggled closer to him as she talked, however, burying her face into his hair and mumbling the last part of her sentence. Loki huffed at her, wrapping both arms around her waist. He twisted his body, turning her over him. She felt the edge of the bed drop away, and then they were both falling and she was raising her voice in indignant warning –

 And promptly spluttered as water closed over her head. She did not thrash as much as she wanted to, because she was weighed down by Loki, who was laughing above her, and pulling her up above the water. Keshaara shook her now-wet hair out of her eyes and propped herself up on her elbows.

 “Loki! The fuck?”

 “Baths. My baths. My rooms, thought it’d be better than the public ones.”

 Keshaara swept her hair out of her eyes (again) and looked around. She was not familiar with this room, or the copper bathing tub she found herself in, but Loki looked perfectly content, hovering above her with a smile on his face. She sneered at him, gaining herself a huffed laugh and a swift kiss on her nose. He leaned back, sitting comfortably in the tub, while Keshaara did her best to find a way to orient herself so that they both had enough room. This was a bath-place for one, not two.

 “C’mhere,” Loki said, pulling her up into his lap and arranging her neatly there, one of her legs on either side of his hips.

 Keshaara felt the insistent hardness of his cock nudging between her thighs, and quirked an eyebrow at him. Even so, she rocked her hips against him, delighting in how he felt between her legs. Somehow, it felt as if he got _harder_ under her ministrations, his cock jumping towards her cunt, and his hips gave an impatient jerk upwards.

 “You seem…insistent on that.”

 “My name never sounds as good on any other lips than on yours.”

 Keshaara froze, blinking as she tried to process what he had said. It was important, what he had said, she knew it, and she just needed a few moments to understand it.

 Those moments were stolen away from her when Loki pushed her hips down as he thrust up into her. They groaned in near unison, Keshaara falling forward to rest her chest against Loki’s. He did not move, and neither did she, not for a long moment.

 “Divines, Loki,” Keshaara whispered, nuzzling his neck. There were hickies stippling his neck, and she pressed kisses over those wounds. Loki returned the gesture, tightening the grip he had on her waist. He did not want to let her go.

 The bathwater was just warm enough, and they were careful not to displace too much of it out of the ornate tub with their movements. This time they were slow, taking the time they hadn’t the night before. Gentle, slow, edging them towards a simultaneous release, they fucked in his personal baths. Keshaara had no need to look elsewhere, though she was certain the design and ornamentation would be sublime, she only needed to lean the slightest bit back and she could see _him_. There was nothing as sublime as him.

 Loki, with his head resting on the burnished copper, his ravenwing-dark hair spread out over the metal, water lapping at his neck and collarbones, his pale skin stippled with the marks of her own making. Loki, with his green eyes hooded, pupils blown wide, with bruises dotting his neck. Loki, with his mouth half-open, a flush on his cheekbones. Loki, smiling just the smallest bit as he looked up at her. It felt like adoration. It felt like worship when he rubbed his hands up and down her hips, when he canted his own hips against hers.

 All at once there was not enough air in her lungs, and she was hurtling over the edge of her orgasm, gritting her teeth against a scream. Loki arched beneath her, gasping as she clenched around him in her pleasure, with his own crashing through his blood.

 She panted, trying to catch her breath, arching her back as she felt his cum fill her again. Loki made a needy sound and pulled her down to press his forehead to hers. He breathed in sync with her, rubbing her back in circles. It was a lovely moment, full of the sort of things she supposed people wrote ballads about. She was full of him in more than one meaning of that word and he was rubbing her back and muttering words beneath his breath that she could not catch.

 Everything was wonderful until –

 “ _LOKI FRIGGASON ODINSON,_ ” a voice broke through the silence.

 Loki looked at her, with his eyes wide and panicked.

 “Is that your-”

 “Holy hels you need to-”

 “ _Loki_ -”

 He was not so crass as to push her off of him, but he made it very clear that she needed to make herself scarce because his Lady Mother was on the way into his room and she needed to move because if Frigga found –

 The door to the baths-room was flung open, and Frigga stormed in. Loki moved quickly, throwing his magic at Keshaara. Heavy emerald and gold silks draped her shoulders, wrapping around her middle and arms until she was wearing an open, light, robe. The sleeves were long, wide and gaped at her elbows, the long sleeves far too much for the small space, and dipped into the water. She made a squeaking sound and fumbled to close it all the way, belatedly realizing she was still sitting neatly on Loki’s cock and he was still stone-hard inside of her.

 “Loki Odinson, what _are_ you doing?!”

 “Hello mother, what brings you to my room this early?” he said, carefully moving Keshaara off of him, and turning to his mother.

 “Championess Keshaara, get out of that bath. Loki, what in the **Nine Realms** are you doing with her?”

 Keshaara obliged, holding the robes around herself so as to not be improper. Loki summoned his clothes as well, and rose out of the water before exiting the baths.

 “Enjoying her. She is my Champion.”

 Frigga carried her fury well, staring down her son with rage in her eyes. She advanced on her son, and grabbed him by the ear. Loki lost all semblance of being resolute when his mother twisted his ear. He stooped, twisting his head as best he could to keep his mother from ripping his ear off. Keshaara edged towards the door, not sure of where she should be, but in general, she did not like dealing with mothers when she had their sons cum dripping down her thigh.

 “That does not mean you can dally with her like this without making the proper advances. She is a woman courted – and not by you. Have I raised a son who is so rude? She is an outsider and a woman unmatched and you will not use her like a common serving wench.”

 “Mother! She and I-”

 “I do not care what she and you were getting up to, but it stops now. You either will court her as proper, or you will find another woman to bed. She deserves better than to be treated as a commoner, and you should know that. She is your Champion, and you will give her the appropriate respects!”

 “ _Mother_ , I-”

 “’I’ nothing, Loki! Do you respect her?”

 “Yes, but-”

 “Do you desire to see her happy?”

 “Yes, Mother but-”

 “Does she deserve the benefits of courtship, as outlined by the courtesy books I _know_ you read?”

 “Of course she does, but Mother!”

 “No, but nothing. Keshaara, please leave the room. My son's clothing apparently fits you, and you should be able to find something to wear. I must speak with him in private.”

 Keshaara really did not need to be urged any faster than that. Regardless of the water dripping from her, or the heavy silk draping her shoulders, she moved to make herself scarce. Loki grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her back to him. He had magicked himself some clothing as well, similar in shade, but not style – his robe was obviously cut for a masculine form, and Keshaara rather belatedly realized that the construction of this robe was indeed feminine. A near-jealous twist in her gut let her know that she was…upset by this revelation.

 Still, she looked to Loki, keeping her new-born anger in check. He relaxed his grip on her wrist, and slid his hand down to hold hers.

 “Maybe I wanted to-”

 “Release her hand. If you _wanted_ to, then you should go about the proper channels. It is bad enough what Thor is doing with Lady Foster, but I had always thought that you had more sense than him.”

 Loki dropped her hand as if it had burned him, and reached, instead, for his Mother.

 “Mother please, if I did that, what would happen with-”

 “Do not “Mother please” me, Loki. You know perfectly well what would happen, and you know perfectly well that is how it should happen. You are a Prince of Asgard, even if you are still in flux on the exact meaning of that title, you are my _son,_ and if you have intentions on this woman who could become a daughter of mine, I will make sure you follow all of the rules to guard her propriety. Keshaara, please, the door.”

 Keshaara backed out of the room as their argument continued, Loki and Lady Frigga each trying to out-maneuver each other. Water dripped from her borrowed robe, and she looked around, trying to get her bearings. She had only been in Lokis rooms the once (okay, well, twice if the whole magic-chicanery counted), and did not know where to begin looking. She did need clothes, as embroidered silk, no matter how beautiful and soft on the skin, was a bit of a burden when it was wet. Carefully, she crossed the foyer of his room, searching for his personal rooms. She had been there before, and knew what to look for in there.

 Keshaara let the robe fall from her as soon as she crossed the threshold to his bed room, not wanting it on her any longer. It was not just a construct of magic – it was a real object, something Loki had on hand, something he had prepared. Something for a woman. Something Loki had…

 That same dark feeling knifed through her gut. Loki had…

 She shook the thoughts away. So what if he had clothing for some other woman in his colors in his room. He was a grown man, an Asgardian goodness knows how much older than her, and she did not need to know, nor waste time on caring, if he was pursuing other women. That was not her business. He owed her nothing, she owed him nothing.

 Keshaara rifled through his drawers, looking for things that would fit her. She found a drawer full of womens clothing, and when she opened the huge closet, she found a whole section devoted to women’s wear as well. Gorgeous dresses that she could not help but run her fingers over before passing them by, in all shades of green and gold and black. They were stunning, and she wanted to feel what they would be like on her skin, but she would not, would _not_ put them on. She would not dress in Loki’s woman’s clothing because she was not her.

 So she found a plain (or at least, plain as possible with Loki’s taste) pale green blouse, and dark charcoal leather trousers. Keshaara brushed her hair out with her fingers, and stole a few flowers from the reflecting bowl Loki apparently kept beneath the open window, probably to let any breeze that entered his room carry a fresh, pleasant smell, weaving them into her braid.

 She went with a more ornate style than usual, braiding it sideways, from her right temple, down and across the back of her neck to end beneath her left ear. She stole all of his flowers. They were fresh, they smelled nice, and she fucking felt like stealing them. They were…jasmine? Jasmine flowers. Something similar, at least. They provided a fair contrast against her water-dark hair, and while she was not going to steal any of his jewelry, she was going to make sure that even without the benefit of having clothing made especially for her (Divines _why_ was she so stuck on that), she looked better in Loki’s clothes than his…other.

 The sounds of fighting died down from the other room, and Keshaara took that as her cue to make herself scarce from this particular room. She stepped carefully over the robe she had discarded, leaving it for Loki to clean up later. Or his woman. Whatever.

 Loki and Frigga both were waiting for her as she left his bedroom. Loki opened his mouth to say something, his face expressing some shocked emotion or another, but Frigga cut him off with a very regal wave of her hand.

 Keshaara, what manner of courtship ritual would be proper to initiate a courting, if you were of a Queen’s rank in Skyrim?”

 “If I were of such a rank, the prospective suitors would be expected to introduce themselves to me however best they thought to impress me, and generally, a court-gift is given as well. Regardless if the courtship is accepted or not, the gift may or may not be. Bad gifts are seen as insults, good gifts are seen as mediocre. Ideally, the gifts given are things utterly unattainable by the one to be courted and are therefore, very valuable.”

Keshaara spoke easily, looking to Frigga and explaining the process in as much detail as she knew.

 “How interesting. Loki, show her the door. I have much to speak of with you yet, and I think it is high time Keshaara is given some time to herself.”

 Keshaara knew a dismissal, even a polite one, when she heard it. She inclined her head in a short bow to Frigga, nodded at Loki, and excused herself. It was only when the large doors to Loki’s rooms shut behind her that she heard them begin to talk once again.

 So be it.

 She turned her feet back towards her rooms, and began to walk.


	26. Móðr

The Tale of the Dragonborn

The Tale of the Jotun Prince

* * *

 

Keshaara’s day opened before her. She only half-considered going back to her room, and in the end, decided against it. She was clothed, and she did not need anything from her room. The florist must have stopped by in the morning, but Dómhildr would have handled it, regardless.

 She set her mind to wander, and as such, she wandered as well, uncaring of where she went or who looked at her oddly. She saw the reflection of herself in a particularly glassy piece of marble and was quick to wreath her neck in a healing spell until the bruises faded away. As much fun as it had been to gain such marks, they were rather soured by the morning’s revelation. Keshaara finding paths she was half certain she was not meant to be on.

 When she opened the door in front of her, a fresh, cool breeze wrapped around her. She was near the pinnacle of the palace – it was only a handful of feet above her now. Keshaara sighed happily and climbed up and over that last lip, until she was seated at the pinnacle of Asgard.

 Even here, at the top of _their_ world, she could tell that it was nowhere near the pinnacle of the Throat of the World of Skyrim. The thought made her melancholy. She curled herself into a small ball and watched the world move around her. Asgard was all glitter and gold. Asgard was glitter and gold and insubstantiality. She ached for the feel of rock closing in over her head. She yearned for the roughness of wood.

 Divines, everything was so different here.

 Asgard was horrendous.

 She scratched at the metal beneath her, her lips curling into a sneer. Not even the metal felt right. It was so over-imbued with magic, so overwrought with everything that it hardly felt like metal at all. Keshaara was half-tempted to shout the skies down around this damned city, to watch it burn and bleed to make sure that it could. She had to do so much more, there was so much emotion boiling her blood that the stillness she was forcing herself into felt stilted and wrong. It felt weak.

 Divines, it _felt_. It did not matter what emotion rode through her mind, she felt it with the acute intensity of loss. She was so wrapped in her thoughts that she nearly missed out on hearing the approach of steps. Still, though, she heard them before they were too close and turned her head to regard them. Their smell on the air was half-familiar, and she knew whoever it was would not be someone with whom she had interacted with on more than two occasions.

 The man with the golden eyes who had originally possessed her pack regarded her. Keshaara lifted an eyebrow at him, and stood to greet him properly.

 “Hello.”

 “Champion Keshaara, hello.”

 They regarded each other for long minutes.

 “You are far from where you should be.”

 “And so, I think, are you. Should you not be guarding the entryway into this place?”

 “I can see all, so it is-”

 “Right. Is there a reason you came to talk to me, then?”

 Heimdall looked at her, his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. He was not accustomed to being interrupted. Keshaara’s body language was challenging, from the jut of her chin to the way her arms crossed just over her chest.

 “I wanted to see you. Observe you.”

 “You could have done that from afar, if I understand your powers correctly. Why would you come here?”

 “You cannot see what I do.”

 “Obviously. Then what was it I needed to see?”

 “There approaches now, a rider from one of the further townships of Asgard.”

 Heimdall pointed. Keshaara turned her eyes to where he indicated. There was indeed, someone rushing through the crowded main thoroughfare, his horse overworked and on the brink of collapse.

 “Just so.”

 “He comes to seek audience with Odin. His village is under attack by a bilgesnipe, and he seeks the aide of the guards to kill the beast.”

 “Then it is Odin’s worry of who to send to meet such a creature, not mine.”

 “Odin will send no one.”

 “Explain. You may see all, but I do not believe that means you can see the future itself.”

 “Odin warned these people that they were going beyond his help when they settled where they did. He will send no one, because he told them he would send no one. That man, his family, and their companions will all die.”

Heimdall spoke with conviction, but without inflection. Whatever effect he was hoping to have on Keshaara, she could not fathom, but there was a slow-burning fury in her chest that ached to find an appropriate outlet. It only took a quirk of his eyebrow so small that she was not even entirely certain she had seen it at all to bring the next words tumbling out of her mouth.

“He means to let his own people die? The Allfather, the King of the Nine Realms, will let them die to prove his words correct?”

“Yes.”

 The string of cursewords that emanated from Keshaara were a amalgam of language, but the emphatic nature of her gesturing told Heimdall that he should potentially step away from her. She was furious, and her anger made her shine with potential and danger. He wanted to see exactly what she could do. Unlike others – unlike practically everyone else, he wanted to see exactly what she was capable of. Exactly. To the utmost precision possible. She was an unknown, even more so than Loki. On a casual level, her power was banal, and she walked like a mortal being, uncaring or unimpressive.

 But he had seen into the power that she wielded – twice now – in battle. There was a supernova under her skin, a burning sun that threatened to escape her ribs every time she spoke. It was not common for Heimdall to ascribe such lofty descriptions to mortals, or anyone, but this Dovahkiin was still holding a secret within her. A terrible one. And for the sake of all in Asgard, Heimdall would find what she was hiding.

 If he had to goad her into action himself, he would do it.

Keshaara, for her own sake, was coiling in on herself. Her nature dueled with her tempered knowledge of where she was. She was no hero, here. She was the Champion of the man who had all but bathed in the blood of babes. Aspirations were cast upon her every movement, and suspicion dogged her. She had no weapons, and by order of the King, it seemed, nothing would go her way. The politics of Asgard baffled her, the orderance of death on those who could not defend themselves baffled her, and she was not a woman who was generally given to overlong considerances of what she needed to do.

Her instinct, as always, was clear.

 These people needed help. A bilgesnipe, whatever it was, was assaulting someone. It did not matter if they had angered the thing, or caused it to attack them. The people needed help. She had helped people out of far worse situations that they had brought onto themselves. But if she understood Heimdall correctly, the Bilgesnipe was a creature. Perhaps one that had had its territory infringed upon, but it _was_ a creature. That meant it bled, and that meant it could die. So why would Odin, even after being brought information that his people were dying, allow such a creature to live?

 If this was some sort of punishment for a wrongdoing by the community, Odin was a far more discussing cretin than she had originally thought, and Keshaara had never thought of him in kind terms.

 “So no one will help.”

 “No. Odin forbade it once, he will forbid it again.”

 Keshaara made a noncommittal growling sound beneath her breath, and turned back to Heimdall.

 “He forbade all help to them?”

 “He forbade any person from Asgard, and any Aesir from assisting them, yes. The guards have been warned that this one was approaching, and will not let him pass.”

 She did not miss the way Heimdall’s lips twitched upwards into a near smile as she narrowed her eyes. He was speaking truth, yes, but she had a feeling Odin meant that no one ever help them, and Heimdall was seemingly urging her into action. Or she was reading too much into what Heimdall was saying. Either was equally as likely, but she did not care overmuch.

 Keshaara’s mouth twisted, and almost effortlessly, she threw herself off the tallest spire of Asgard. She heard Heimdall’s muttered curse, and his step towards the edge, but she was already falling faster and faster. Heights never bothered her. Nothing much bothered her.

 Her body twisted artfully through the air, even as some saw her falling and hissed their surprises. Without any exertion, her magic rushed to slow her fall, turning her gently in the air and setting her down beside the man who had ridden in to see Odin. The guards leveled their spears at her, but she waved them away with a hand that shimmered with magic. The spears went flying harmlessly into the nearest babbling stream.

 “I am Keshaara, Champion of Loki, and Ashlander of Morrowind. I am here to help you. Show me the way.”

 The man stared at her, his mouth hanging slack. The guards rushed away, probably to report her actions to whatever power they felt necessary to report to. Keshaara kept her eyes on the man, coolly looking him over in anticipation.

 “I…was seeking the audience of Odin Allfather. The guards-”

 “I know. Odin will not help you, and you know that as well. I will. Show me the way, and I will destroy what is causing you and yours harm.”

 “It is a long way from here, my lady.”

 “I will call my mount when we are outside the city. Until then, I shall walk.”

 “As…as you say then, my lady. Do you not need armor or weapon?”

 “I will tend to that later. I do not think we have much time. Ride out, and I shall follow behind you.”

 The man looked at her with suspicion heavy in his eyes, but he did not argue with her. He simply turned his horse’s head and nudged the beast into movement. Keshaara started following behind him, slowly at first, waving magic at his back so she would not lose him in the crowd. She did not have time to run back for her pack, or any of her armor or weapons, and that momentarily concerned her.

 But she had come into Skyrim in rags, without even boots for her feet, with broken bones and a broken heart. It would not be too hard to start again.

 The walk from the palace to the outskirts of the sprawling capital city took her a good long while, but she had no need for haste. In fact, she took rather painstaking efforts to appear as if she were not rushing. The guards were passing their reports on, and if she was correct in her thinking, there would be-

 “Stop her!”

 Keshaara turned her head, ever-so-slightly. There was a contingent of guards rushing towards her, their weapons drawn and ready.

 “In the name of Odin, stop her!”

 The crowds turned towards her, backing away so as not to be caught in the crossfire between the two groups. The man who had asked for her help turned to look at her, fear shining in his brown eyes.

 “Ride on! I am right behind you, go!” she called to him, waving him away. She gathered her magic around her and threw it at him again, intent on not losing him in case they were separated.

 The man put a spur to his horse and galloped off. Keshaara burst into a sprint after him.

 “Shadowmere, _to me_!” she called, hoping against hope that the summoning would work, even so far from Skyrim.

 Bones rose from the dust, shadows wrapped and warped, and all at once, a horse of myths and shade was reborn. It screamed as it came into being, but then again, Shadowmere had never been a particularly even-tempered beast. The horse galloped to her side, its eyes rolling and mouth agape. Keshaara hissed a command at the beast, and it calmed enough to let her swing herself up onto its back.

 “Show me the wind, Shadowmere.”

 Her horse bolted, out of the reaches of the onrushing guards, out of the city, out of the reach of those who wanted to stop her. She easily caught the man, who urged his horse to go faster in order to keep pace with Keshaara.

 They vanished, over hill and dale, far from the glittering city of the capital, leaving chaos and confusion in their wake.

* * *

 

 It was within three days that those who wished to see Loki in chains began baying for his head – his Champion had abandoned him.

 It was mere moments after that, that they were silenced by Heimdall, who told them that Keshaara had not abandoned Loki, nor her position, but had been called away by others who needed her. Their objections, their challenges, would all be met when she returned.

 Because she would return.

 It was three weeks until the capital received news of Keshaara.

 It was two more until the rumors began that she was returning.

 It was days after that, when Loki had begun to go mad with worry and furious with abandonment as he paced a path through his rooms, that the guards rushed in to his room, babbling something incoherent. Between the three of them he was able to eventually understand that Keshaara was returning…and returning, apparently, in a manner that induced terror.

 He followed them, exiting his rooms for the first time since he had first heard the rumors that she was out being _heroic_ in Asgard, wondering what sort of shenanigans Keshaara had –

 “Oh holy Hels.”

 Keshaara was…well there was no word for what she was doing except **strutting** down the main hall of the palace. Her hips swung almost over-exaggeratedly, each step making the baubles that now hung from her belt – baubles that were obviously battle-trophies from killing some of the most ferocious creatures that inhabited the wilds of Asgard – sway and click against each other.

 She was still wearing that pale green blouse she had stolen from him, but now the sleeves were stained brown with blood all the way to the elbows, and the same pants too. She had her face painted with bonedust and blood, and her eyes were glowing. Every other step she took was accompanied by the heavy _click_ of the staff she bore. The weapon was made of dark, gnarled wood, and sang of magic to Loki’s senses. Seated at the top of it, wrapped with copper wires, was a quartet of pale pink crystal points, each gleaming with mage-light.

 Keshaara looked wild. She looked ferocious. Her hair was braided back and set with rough-cut precious stones in bronze and silver settings. The roughness of the gems only made it more sumptuous, somehow, to see her as she was. The trophies of dead things, some still wet with blood the color of rubies, decorated her boots, her belt, and his-her blouse.

 All of this was wonderful, all of it was eye-catching and wondrous. Oh, but what drew they eye, oh but what made this spectacle something that he was certain would be spoken of in hushed tones every time Keshaara was out of earshot was what came behind her.

_Bilgesnipes._

  Seven of them.

 The greatest terror, the supreme predator, the one thing even Odin was hesitant to send forces against, a creature that had taken the entirety of the Warriors Three, Thor, Sif, and himself to bring down _one_ , and she had seven of them, walking perfectly in sync behind her. They did not look to either side, they did not rankle beneath her commands. No. Like obeisant dogs, they followed at her heels, stepping carefully and delicately as she led them towards the throne room.

 Loki, along with the shocked servants and attendants followed behind her in stunned silence. She was commanding these great beasts by some manner of magic. Magic was known to Asgardians, to Aesir, Vanir, to almost everyone in the Nine Realms. Magic was known and feared or glorified, but magic like what Keshaara was doing seemed to be excessive and strange, even for them. It was excessive, even. It seemed to be so utterly beyond everything possible that the odd parade that followed behind Keshaara was one borne of curiosity and awe.

 Loki had to keep himself from rushing to stand next to Keshaara as she walked towards Odin’s throne. The Allfather was already sitting, his single eye burning with hatred. An inordinate desire to protect Keshaara rose up in him, and he stepped out of the group towards her.

 She held a hand up behind her, gesturing for him to stop in his tracks, and he did so. He swallowed the objection that rose up in his throat with some difficulty. Loki knew Odin could be merciless, and while he bore the man he once called Father incredible ill will, he also was aware that his continued existence and non-execution was a gesture of incredible restraint on Odin’s behalf. Loki was still important for some manner of scheme or another. Keshaara was decidedly not.

 “Odin.”

 “You have-”

 “ **Silence**.”

 Keshaara tapped the butt of her staff against the ground and the power that rushed out from the small movement was enough to shake the very foundations of the palace. Odin did not seem as if he would remain in silence for long, so before he could raise his voice to speak over her, she carried on.

 “My understanding is that these creatures,” she gestured to the tamed bilgesnipes behind her, “are amongst the most dangerous and deadly beings in Asgard. As such, a good King would see that they are handled come the times when they harass and maim the people beneath their rule, not leave such dangerous creatures to the smallfolk’s handling.”

 Keshaara leaned on her staff, looking up to Odin with wide, bright, orange eyes. She looked at ease and relaxed, even as Odin only grew all the angrier.

 “But apparently such things are not your problem any longer. I ask you now, are these bilgesnipes a problem for you now? If I were to release the magic that binds them to me, would you rally your guards to protect your family? Would you?”

 Odin jolted forward in his throne, a curse on his lips and a command on his tongue. Faster than Odin could speak, Keshaara rolled over his words with her own, her voice cutting his straight out of the air with brutal efficiency.

 “You call yourself All-Father, but you would let those, as your children, die.”

 “They were warned of the danger.”

 “Just so. I do not think they understood that you meant that you were the dangerous one.”

 Odin looked like he was about to explode. Keshaara stared at him with the same wide stare, beguiling and innocent while her mouth twisted in a manner that was decidedly neither of those things. She knew what she was doing.

 “You have no right to speak in this manner-”

 “I have the only right. You are not my King. These are not my lands. You are not my blood, as the emperors of Skyrim now are, you are no hero recognized in song and shadows as I am. You are an old man on a throne who cannot – would not – protect his own people. The fact remains that I did what you refused to, and now I seek an answer as to why you would let them die.”

 “I am _Odin Allfather-_ ”

 “AND I AM KESHAARA, _THURI DOVAHKIIN_. VOICE OF STORMS. ”

 The entirety of Yggsdrasil shifted as Keshaara raised her voice above Odins. Her voice was thunder, it was the clash of continental plates, it was an earthquake and an explosion, and it set the entirety of the gathered on edge. Odin recoiled from her, shocked by the force in her voice alone.

 “I am Keshaara Dovahkiin, and I am in the business of keeping Kings in good standing, or removing them, if I must.”

 “You dare threaten-”

 “If you feel threatened, that is merely your own misunderstanding of this situation. I come bearing gifts of tamed beasts and to scold you for improper action, no more. If you do not heed my words, that is your business, but protecting the smallfolk has always been mine.”

 Keshaara’s words were cutting and fierce, and even as guards began to circle warily throughout the crowds, she did not flinch away from staring Odin in his singular, good, eye. She had no reason to be afraid.

 “What is it that you want, then? Did Loki put you up to this? Are you as desirous of the throne as he?”

 For a moment, Keshaara looked at Odin, expecting the second part of whatever joke he was telling to spill forth. When nothing did, and she realized that Odin truly thought her actions were that of one who wished to steal the throne out from beneath him, she was very glad that both of her hands were already on her staff, because the rush of laughter that spilled out of her very nearly knocked her completely over.

 She laughed long and _hard_ , to the confusion of all gathered. Even Odin began to look uncomfortable. They were far more accustomed to Loki’s biting mad laughter – but this seemed genuine. Keshaara genuinely found his comment funny.

 “Oh, Divines, _no_ , Odin. I find that thrones are just uncomfortable chairs, and anyone in Skyrim would tell you that my name clearly indicates that the throne was never for me. No. I do not want your throne, or you power, or your title. I have no interest in any of that. The only power I crave I doubt you have – because if you _did_ possess it, I would rip it from you before you recognized me as a threat.”

 Keshaara spoke very nonchalantly, waving a hand as if brushing away an errant gnat. She only spoke truth, still. She honestly had no interest in Odin’s type of power. His power would not bring her what she wanted.

 “There is but one power I crave, and it is a power beyond anyone here. Any power besides that _one_ bears little interest to me. All other powers cannot give to me what I desire, and if they cannot do that, then they are as useless as fire in a rainstorm.”

 Keshaara was careful to moderate her voice so that the pain of the thought would not overwhelm her. She did not care overmuch if anyone thought ill of her, not when she had spent weeks with the smallfolk, back outside the gates of the capital city, wild and free and blooded. She wanted a bath, and then she wanted to peruse her various trinkets again. That was all. Maybe she would start reading the books Frigga had given her.

 “What is it you want then, Keshaara? What do you desire? What brought you here, to defend Loki.”

 “Loki brought me here. I cannot return whence I came, so I stay. As for what I want – I want to go _home_. I want to go back to the start and spit in the eye of the Divines who cursed me with a fate. I want to be with my family again. There is no power that can undo the years, no magic that could unwrite what was written, so I simply serve when asked. Loki asked, and lo, I serve.”

 The Dovahkiin considered this the end of the conversation, and turned away from Odin, walking back towards the waiting bilgesnipes.

 “You would serve anyone, then?” he sneered at her back.

 “I serve Princes far more terrible than your son, Odin. Them, I serve because I swore an oath to sacrifice my freedom so that another may have their own. Your son, I serve because it is the right thing to do. Loki’s name is sung with mine in Skyrim. He is counted a Companion of Jorrvaskr, and my children knew his tale as well as I did. Do not think I am some common mercenary, who can be bought and sold like a favored axe. I am a hero unmatched, the last of the Dragonborn, Defeater and Consumer of the World-Eater. And I don’t much care for your tone.”

 Again, she tapped the butt of her staff against the ground. The bilgesnipes, in unison, sagged and fell. White light streamed from each of them, coalescing around the crystals in her staff and infusing them with their light. There was nothing flashy, no great rush of noise, but Odin flinched. He had enough magic-sense, then, to tell what had happened. Keshaara smiled over her shoulder at him, but walked on. Her staff now glowed with a faint white light, and the wood seemed to warp and twist under her hand now, fueled by a very dark form of energy.

 “If you will not protect your people, I will. If you will not do what is right, I will. If Asgard is so devoid of those who desire to do what is just, I will do it. It is a position I have played before, but from what I was told of this shining realm, I had hoped it would not be necessary. The bilgesnipes are dead. Do with them what you will.”

 The soft tapping of her staff and her footsteps echoed throughout the silenced chamber. Keshaara walked through the crowd calmly, not sparing anyone a second glance. Those that were in her way quickly made themselves scarce, some ducking their heads lowly to show their respects. Keshaara accepted the deference with a regal lift of her chin. If they needed fear, she would show them fear. If they needed power, she would show them power.

 But she was no longer going to accept the tacit rebukes and disrespect that had been thrown at her ever since her arrival in Asgard. She was a force of nature, a thunderstorm, a near demigod, and she would have them all know it.

 The capital was not her priority. As always, as ever – the common folk were. She had been away from the capital long enough to see what the conditions were like, long enough to forge friendships, long enough to hear the lifeline of gossip as it flowed through Asgard. She knew more than she had when she had left, and it made a few things very clear to her.

 That, however, she was going to keep to herself. She had business to do as Loki’s Champion, and she rather planned on doing it. Keshaara had rattled the hornet’s nest, and now she had to wait for the reaction to come.

 Rather than being afraid, she relished it. The change of pace was a welcome one, and perhaps she would be able to sense out whatever rot had taken hold of the realm she found herself in.

Ah, but first – a bath.


	27. Gildi

The Tale of the Dragonborn

The Tale of the Jotun Prince

* * *

 

 

She was left, blessedly, alone by the nannering people of the palace. Solitude was glorious, and while she enjoyed her time away, the walk had been long, and she was tired. The baths would be her first stop on her re-introduction to the palace.

 Asgard was an advanced place, and even the smallfolk had luxuries that she had not seen excepting in the halls of the Jarls, but the palace was another matter entirely still. The overworked design still irritated her, but she had come to accept the palace as a sort of quasi-home where she could be comfortable with where things were and what she could expect, which was all she ever wanted when she came “home” from her adventures. Something familiar. Something she was comfortable with. A warm bath, hot food that didn’t taste like sweat and smoke, some wine or mead, and a bed that was soft and covered in her own furs.

 As much as she did not like the capital of Asgard, or the palace, she had to admit, that at least for the time being, it did fit all of those markers. The baths, at least, she remembered fondly. Oh, the thought of a warm bath, soft towels, and scented oils, made her smile and move the slightest bit faster.

 Exhaustion dogged her. She had done what she had intended to, but that level of magic was still tiring. It was meant to look easy, what she had done. It was, in fact, not easy at all. It was one of the most complex spells that took weeks to set up and implement, and she had executed it nigh instantaneously. Not to mention bending those bilgesnipes to her will. Even with her hefty reserves of magicka, it was a little tiring and very taxing.

 Her muscles ached and she could feel her back starting to knot up something horrendous.

So she walked towards the baths, her staff supporting her tired body, and her mind a pleasant, but empty echo chamber. The mind-numbing fuzziness was a welcome relief from her past few weeks. It was one thing to choose to be Dovahkiin again, to choose to rush out into battle, blood surging and a warsong in her heart, but it was a surprising relief to know that she could take that mantle off and hang it at the door. She was Loki’s Champion now. She did not have to be Dovahkiin, but she could choose to be. If she wanted to. Boredom would not dog her, and she would not have to be obligated to act if she chose not to.

 Keshaara sagged into her staff as the enormity of the thought hit her.

 She did, in fact, have a choice here. She was Loki’s Champion, yes. But Dovahkiin meant nothing. They saw her strength and were appropriately afraid and awed, but there was nothing else in that that would obligate her to do anything, anything at all.

 The serene smile would not leave her face. She was so content that she barely recognized the greetings thrown at her. She lifted a hand in response to any physical greeting, and muttered something in response to anyone who talked at her. But honestly, she was not paying any attention to any of it. The warmth of the muggy air of the baths hit her like a slap.

 She walked to the room she had used before, pleasantly surprised when it was not occupied, and quickly relieved herself of all of her clothes. Keshaara used her staff to prop the door closed before walking into the welcoming heat of the baths. Water rushed over jagged wounds and yellowing bruises, eliciting a soft moan from her.

 “Now that _is_ a sound I have missed.”

 To her credit, Keshaara did not start, or flinch away. She had been rather expecting him, after all.

 “I was wondering when you would come to see me, Loki.”

 Keshaara did not turn her head to look at the intruder into her baths. She listened as he took his own clothing off, piling them on the floor next to hers. His entrance into the water was smooth, and he was very quickly next to her, pulling on her arm to bring her closer.

 She went willingly, smiling as he wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled her neck.

 “Well I certainly couldn’t keep my Champion waiting. She has been away for so long, and apparently, has not been taking care of herself. Look, her ribs jut from her pale skin, there are scratches and bruises that have gone untreated and ah!” Loki pushed on her shoulderblades until Keshaara was flush against his chest. “She has gone weak in my absence.”

 Keshaara chuckled, twining her fingers through Loki’s hair.

 “I missed you too, you obnoxious tit.”

 Loki stilled, looking up at her with his brows pulled together. His mouth was half-open and an accusation was half-on his tongue. Keshaara did not swoop down to press a kiss against that mouth of his, despite her desire to do just that. No, she waited, wanting to see if he said anything. The odd fluttering tightness in her chest only constricted when he remained silent. She bit down on her apology, not at all willing to let her hesitance eek out a phrase she did not actually mean from within her.

 Loki gathered her close to him, pulling her head down into the crook of his neck and holding her. He still did not reply, and the words that burned Keshaara’s throat only grew in intensity. For long minutes Loki held her in silence, absentmindedly rubbing her back. He turned his head to press his lips to her dampened hair, and only then did he speak.

 “I missed you, Keshaara. I did.”

 The tightness in her chest vanished, replaced with a feeling of elation that bubbled up out of her as a delighted squeak. She nipped at his neck with just enough force to make him jump, and then, almost too fast for Loki to respond to, leaned up to kiss his ear, then his cheek, then the corner of his mouth in rapid succession.

 Keshaara moved out of his grasp and glided to the other end of the tub. She went about washing herself off, scrubbing dirt out of the creases in her flesh, watching it vanish into nothingness in the water.

 When she realized she had not grabbed any soaps or oils for her hair, she made a face at the water, and looked around. She did want to just soak herself in water. Not today, at least. No, when she left this bath, she wanted to smell like perfume and softness, so she could go to sleep smelling like a well-kept courtesan instead of a slovenly soldier. She was old enough to demand that. She wanted to smell nice and be clean and she just needed to find the soap and oil.

 The soap was easy enough to find, but the oils were a mystery. They did not seem to be right to her. There was something different with the oils. The consistency was all wrong, and it seemed that the oil left an odd tingling feeling on her fingers whenever she tested it. Keshaara stood puzzled over the oils in their rack for a few minutes before Loki got out of the bat and walked up behind her.

 “Those are not for your hair, Keshaara.”

 “Then how am I to wash my hair? And what are they for?”

 Loki sighed loudly, and gently pulled her back towards the baths, taking the soap from her hands.

 “I will wash your hair for you, and then I will show you what those oils are for. After I am dressed. Sit. Let me wash your hair.”

 Keshaara shot him an odd look, confused by Loki’s suddenly odd mood. But she complied, if a bit slowly. She felt something different in the air between them, and she wasn’t sure if it was because of what she had said. Still…it was nice. He was gentle with her, his fingers ghosting over cuts and bruises she had yet to heal, guiding her even if it was completely unnecessary. His hands held her as she stepped back into the water, and only barely just sought out the dip and curve of her hip, only barely brushed across the small of her back as she stepped down into the water.

 Loki sat on the edge of the baths, still naked, but being surprisingly proper. Generally, if both of them were naked, there was going to be some rather frantic fucking happening shortly, but even as Loki began running the soap in between his fingers and over her body, Keshaara could feel that something was different. She allowed the ministrations though, happy to have some assistance. The aching had started again, bone-deep and indicative of a problem she had been staving off for a long, long time. Perhaps she had overextended herself.

 He rubbed circles over bruises, listening attentively to the way her breath hitched when he pushed too hard or tugged on a still-raw wound. It was a moment devoid of sexual tension, but even so, Keshaara could not help the happy sigh that spilled from her lips. It was so _soothing_ to be ministered to like this that she started to drift into a hazy sort of half-awareness. There was nothing to worry about. Between her and Loki, any threat that came to them would be dealt with easily. She had no reason to fear. She felt….safe.

 Loki gently ran his fingers through her hair, pulling knots apart, tugging clods of dirt and blood and goodness knows what else free from the locks. He moved slowly, smoothly, scrubbing her scalp in circles, working the same soap she had chosen for her body into her hair. There were no oils used, just water and small amounts of soap. Keshaara was too relaxed and sleepy to ask why. She could hardly recall a moment where she had been more relaxed than what she was right now. It was glorious.

 She could feel a rush of magic from behind her as Loki did something with the hand suddenly absent from her hair. Keshaara turned her head just enough to see behind him, where a padded…table? now sat.

 Clothing wrapped around Loki as he moved away from her and stood. He held a hand down to her, and with a confused look at the table, Keshaara rose up out of the baths.

“Can you heal yourself, Keshaara? Or are you too tired?” Loki asked politely as he pulled a towel from the pile near the soaps, holding it out for her.

“I am…tired. They are not severe.”

 “Come here then, I have a salve.”

 Loki was definitely acting odd. Keshaara still obliged him, holding her hands out when instructed, and letting him rub the thick, sharp-smelling paste over her wounds. True to her words, the wounds were neither severe, nor bloody. The salve tingled, and Keshaara watched as the bruises faded and cuts sealed.

 “That is pretty handy, Loki. What is the table for?”

 Her tone was light and communicated jest, but Loki just looked at her. He did not respond, just watched her, and pointed at the table again. Keshaara dried her body more thoroughly, wiping excess salve from her skin before letting the towel drop to the floor. She managed to just barely catch Loki staring at her naked form with lust, heat and desire. Keshaara smiled at him, reaching for his hand. There was a great use for a table and she just needed to get him out of those clothes again and then they could –

 “Lay down on your stomach Keshaara.”

 “ _Gladly_ , Loki,” she purred at him, but he looked away from her.

 She lay out on the table, naked and dripping wet and waiting for Loki to fill her. Keshaara had missed him so, and she was waiting for him to disrobe and mount her from behind and make her scream.

 “Aah!”

 Oil was dripped on her back instead. Really. Cold. Oil.

 “Loki, what the _shit_?!”

 He pressed his hands onto the oil slick on her back and pushed, kneading the oil into her skin, and right into her muscles. Her objection melted into a moan when he strummed his fingers over tight bands of muscle in her back. Keshaara heard Loki suck on his teeth and pause, pulling away from her with a half-muttered curse. He mumbled something under his breath that she couldn’t catch, but within seconds, he was pouring more oil onto her skin and pressing his hands against her back.

 Keshaara luxuriated under his ministration, stretching and groaning whenever he rubbed part of her that was particularly sore. Loki made small noises as well, his breath coming in shortened pants. It was bliss for Keshaara to feel Loki touching her, and it was agony for Loki.

 He had to behave, he had to…

 “Mmmnn, _Loki_ ,” Keshaara moaned when he hit a particularly wonderful patch of muscle.

 Her back was slick with oil, and it glistened in the light. Loki doubted he had ever seen anything so alluring. Oil had dripped on her sides, down her neck, and courtesy of some of his more overzealous movements, oil had dribbled into the cleft of her ass so that it too, caught the light. His mouth was dry, and he tried to make himself focus on rubbing her back. Usually it was a servant in charge of such things, not him. He had hardly ever done this, and only for some of his more serious - he was usually only doing it as a prelude - it did not matter. This was something servants usually did. A servant who had been trained in ways he had not been. He should have summoned a servant in here to massage her.

 Because she moaned again, her voice muffled by her arm and the thin pillow he had placed down for her, and Loki suddenly was lightheaded. His trousers were far tighter than anyone could stand, but he knew he could do nothing about it. He had to focus on being proper, there was so much he had to lose if he did not handle this situation properly.

 Keshaara groaned as he rubbed her back and hummed when his hand slid down the curve of her ass to –

 “Here, sit up and rinse off. I will find some clothes for you to wear and accompany you back to your room.”

 Loki was backing away from her, pulling his magic around him to summon clothing for Keshaara before she could object to having to put on her-his old, dirty clothes. Loki did not want to think about Keshaara wandering around Asgard in his clothing, knowing that others would have known she was wearing his clothes, knowing himself that she had worn his clothes, and only his clothes as she had battled. Any moisture in his mouth was long, long gone, and as he held the summoned clothing (from her own rooms this time, not his, not his this time) out to her, he licked his too-dry lips.

 Keshaara mirrored his action, licking her own lips as she stepped close to him to take her clothes from him. Loki stared at her, his eyes wide, and his breath stuck in his throat.

 “Thank you, Loki. I liked that rather much.”

 He nodded and stepped back, away from her, again. Keshaara shot him a questioning look, but did not advance upon him again. Instead, she dressed quickly, covering her nakedness with her own clothing. Loki wished that that would have lessened the burning in his blood, but it didn’t. Her clothing fit her perfectly, as always, and that was not what was making his heart sing this time. No, Keshaara was looking at him, open, easy, and so _relaxed_ in his presence that he wanted to gather her into his arms and never let her go.

 Everyone was tense around him. Tensed, or tenser than normal, people and creatures would always be on-edge around him. It was his nature, and it had been something he had cultivated for so long that seeing someone who was genuinely, openly, relaxed around him caught him off guard.

 “Kesh…”

 “Mmm, Loki?”

 Norns she was in his space again, sidling close to him and smiling up at him. He tried to retreat away from her, but he had already backed into a wall. Keshaara leaned up into him, resting her hands at his waist and tilting her head up as if to catch his lips in a kiss. Loki had to do the most unbearable thing and put his hands on her _shoulders_ and push her _away_. Granted, she barely moved at all, but the effect did cool some of the fire in her eyes.

 “Let us get you back to your room.”

 “Whisk me away with your magic then.”

 “I cannot. Mother would know. I cannot walk with you either, we will be seen and that would be…improper. I cannot. I want, but…it is complicated. I cannot.”

 Keshaara frowned. Unbidden, the vicious thoughts of the kept woman who meant enough to have her clothing in his room rose in her, and she backed away from him. The languid relaxation was replaced by tension, and then, just as fast, she was relaxed again. Loki was reaching for her hand and she allowed that, catching his own wrist and bringing his hand to her face. He wanted her, but not enough to break off what he had with the other.

 She could fix that. If he would not have her, she would not have him. But she would burn him with that knowledge. Keshaara may not enjoy the process of being wooed, but she _was_ four hundred and seventy some odd years old, and this was _far_ from the first time someone had

 “As you say. I will see you anon then, my Prince.”

 She dipped her head and pressed her lips to the inside of his wrist, over the point where his pulse was loudest. Loki made a half-attempt to pull away from her, and in retaliation, she bit down, fangs suddenly appearing in her mouth for just long enough to draw blood before she licked it away. Loki hissed and pulled his hand from her, but the wound was already closed.

 Before Loki could say anything to her, Keshaara was already walking away, her tongue licking blood off her teeth. If Loki could not be truthful with her, and just tell her why he insisted upon this whole evasive maneuvering, then she would needle him until he broke or told her why he suddenly was avoiding her touch. She picked up her staff from the floor, tapped it once on the ground and left without saying another word to Loki.

 

* * *

 

She walked, unmolested, back to her room. No one spoke to her, or lifted a hand in greeting. Her blissful relaxed state had faded just the slightest bit. Regardless, she still felt much better than she had when she had first walked to the baths. Loki rubbing her down had helped immensely, but his odd behavior had made her feel amped up all over again. But…then again, she did have one advantage over him.

 Maybe two.

 It was hard to tell.

 Dόmhildr greeted her at the door, smothering the taller woman in a tight hug. For a long while, the servant didn’t move, just breathing deeply.

 “You’re back home safe, my la-my Thane.”

 “Mmhm. It’s nice to be back, Dόmhildr. Have you been well?”

 “I’ve been beating suitors off with a stick and trying to stall them. Now that you made an entrance, I am going to go sit in my room and let you deal with them.”

 “What do you mean?”

 Dόmhildr sighed.

 “Lady Frigga decided to make a compromise between the way courtship is done here and the way you described courtship for someone of your rank in Skyrim. They suitors must first introduce themselves, as is custom here, with a handwritten and hand-presented note stating their intentions. From there, after they have been introduced, any suitors who wish to continue pursuing you will present you with a gift, to prove their worth and impress you. That will be…tomorrow, I believe. You have given them all plenty of time to decide if they wish to continue courting you, as well as fetch appropriate gifts. There have been stories of what these suitors have been doing in order to find something _suitable_.”

 Keshaara made a humming sound.

 “Alright, then when will they be he-”

 Almost as if on cue, there was a knock on the door.

 “That would be them. Have fun!”


	28. Hugr

The Tale of the Dragonborn

The Tale of the Jotun Prince

* * *

  

Keshaara answered the door. A line of…servants, all dressed as finely as possible, even when that meant wildly different things. Each bore a plate, a platter, something flat of some sort, and upon it rested a small, folded piece of paper. Keshaara crinkled her nose. The line meandered back out of her line of site, down and further away than she had hoped. The pile of letters Frigga had shown her was not large enough to accommodate all of these people.

 Keshaara had the sinking feeling Frigga had hidden some of the letters from her, weeding out the grain from the chaff, as it were. With the open call, it seemed as if anyone and everyone had made the decision to come and try and vie for her hand. Everyone.

 She whistled lowly.

 “Dόmhildr. Can you fetch me a chair and something to eat? I believe this will be a long… _long_ …day.”

 The housecarl laughed, but did as she asked. Keshaara turned to the first person in line.

 “Tell those behind you that I will be receiving whatever missives they have, but I do not have time to listen to long tales of who is giving it to me. I would appreciate expediency and respect in the matter, as I have just returned home. Sir guardsman, kindly close the doors after each entrant, as these matters are rather meant to be private, for now. I will accept the first one into my rooms in ten minutes. Thank you.”

 With that, she closed the door and walked deeper into her room.

 “So, Dόmhildr, how long do you expect me to be here?”

 Dόmhildr did not respond, merely pulled the most comfortable chair and a side table up. She placed a platter of food down, looked up at Keshaara, and smiled.

 “I certainly hope you have something to entertain yourself with while you listen to all of these suitors of yours. I will find you a basket to place the cards in, and then I will let the guards know to begin the process of letting them in.”

 Keshaara huffed, but sat. She did indeed have something to amuse herself with. In the back of her mind a soft node of green pulsed slowly. Loki and her had forged a connection in blood, and the smallest hint of it was enough to send it surging back to the forefront of her mind. She was not sure if he was as acutely aware of it as she was, but that did not particularly matter for what she had in mind. In fact, it would be far better if Loki remained utterly oblivious to their connection until later that day – perhaps even until tomorrow. Let him sit and stew with the images she was going to inundate him with as she had to sit and stew with all of this.

 She smiled to herself, and reached for her food.

 

* * *

 

_He was sitting on the throne._

 Dressed in his finest regalia, the throne was his. Gungir was back in his left hand, the handle of the staff warm and smooth in his palm. His helmet was his crown, and the whole of the Nine Realms bowed to him, and him alone. He had exactly what he had craved, and he was not going to lose it. Not ever. That knowledge was deep and heavy in his gut.

In his right hand, however, there was an even more satisfying weight.

 A chain was wrapped once around his wrist, trailed through his fist, and then dropped off the side of the throne to connect to a collar. A collar that was wrapped around her neck. Keshaara knelt mutely by his side, her head bowed, and her body only barely clothed. He liked her like this. Quiet and servile, ready to do as he asked, be that fight for him or service him as he needed. She was his, and his alone, and she reveled in that. Even now, he could _smell_ her arousal, her desire, her need for him. She did not challenge the collar he had placed on her neck, she did not challenge him, even though he knew she could. It was a thrilling sensation to know that he had a dragon on a leash, and that the dragon knew it could rip his arm from his shoulder, but chose not to. Not because there was no desire to, but because the dragon wanted to be collared.

  He looked to her, and as she had been trained to do, she anticipated the movement. His eyes locked with hers, and he smiled. She did not smile back at him, but he had the singular honor of watching her pupils blow wide enough to nearly consume the entirety of her irises. Loki barely had his mouth open to give her a command, the hand holding the chain moving ever so slightly, and Keshaara had scrambled to the front of the throne, kneeling between his legs and looking at him hungrily.

 Without permission given, she wrapped one of her arms around his legs, and pressed her face into his thigh. Loki had half a mind to reprimand her, to remind her that he was –

 “Mmnh.”

 The thought vanished from his mind when she set about her own punishment. Not that she ever minded her punishments. Oh, how she loved to be punished by him. She’d let him tie her up and leave her there for hours on end, aching and open for him, and then when he would finally come back for her, she would scream her pleasure until her voice failed her. She’d let him take a knife to her skin and carve his name into her body over and over and over again, and then heal the gashes clean. She’d let him lead her around the palace with a chain around her neck and nothing else. She’d let him do anything and everything to her, because that was what she wanted.

 And right now, she wanted to have her mouth wrapped around his cock again, for the second or third time that day. Loki honestly lost count sometimes. Who would he be if he denied his favorite pet what she wanted from him? She asked for so little.

 Norns, it was practiced ease that had his cock out and down her throat seconds after he gave the slightest nod of allowance. Keshaara moaned as she licked and sucked his cock, and Loki responded with a short jerk on her chain, pulling her up just the slightest bit. She stopped moving, looking up at him with his cock still halfway in her mouth, waiting for a command. When one was not immediately forthcoming, she began swirling her tongue around the head of his cock, maintaining eye contact all the while. Loki bit back a curse and dropped the chain in favor of clutching at the side of the throne. He could not let go of Gungir, not with the guards watching (they _had_ to watch to make sure their King was safe) but he needed to hold onto something more stable than the chain.

  _Keshaara didn’t dip her head down. She had been cautioned against it, so she contented herself with licking him instead. A King could not lose his control, not when others were watching, but Loki very much wanted her to lose her control. He liked it when she did._

 

 Loki opened his eyes, gasping and cursing. He had not meant to get lost in a daydream as he worked. Hells, he wasn’t even sure if that was a daydream. It seemed too real to be just idle thought, and it was a deep, dark desire that had come to the forefront of his mind. Not that he cared. It was just unexpected. And _very_ distracting.

 Oh, but the thoughts of having Keshaara chained and collared next to him. Oh, to have the throne and **her**. The thoughts were dark and alluring, as most of his thoughts were, but it was hardly ever that he thought of her like that.

 Maybe he had missed her more than he had thought. He certainly wasn’t going to get any more work done on his latest project. Not with that echoing in his head. It had been so…well no, it had not been as long as he had thought, he had just missed her more than he had wanted to recognize. No, he was just consumed with new knowledge and he needed to play by the rules. He had to comply because that would get him closer to the final move in his game. He wanted – needed to win the game, because now there was something actually worth fighting for.

 He did, however, need to focus. This last part required a steady hand and a clear mind. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in.

 

* * *

 

 Keshaara was twenty people into the line and each had been more dull than the last. There were ornate letters, long winded announcements of names she could not remember. She did not care to remember. These people did not mean anything to her. They were so boring and uninteresting. They had all servants to bring their missives and announce them. Fancy silver and gold and gem platters that glittered from over-polishing bore the missives and were, apparently, a way to make her aware of how much money these people had.

If someone wanted to impress her, money was not the way to do it.

 The names all blended into each other, the servants clearly knew that. Many did not try and be overly impressive beyond what was necessary, and some, after the door was closed, merely held the letter to her and offered their apologies for what she was going through. Keshaara could not tell how many of these were sincere apologies, nor did she know if the few questions she asked were met with real answers. It did not matter, however. She was hardly paying any attention at all. Something better was afoot.

 She did her best to not look unimpressed, and to keep her “politician” smile in place. She could not be rude, not yet, apparently. These were all people who wanted her. They wanted her name, or her body, or her beauty, or her to use her against Loki. Something like that. She didn’t care.

 There were more fun things to do. There was a Loki elsewhere in the palace and if she could sense her magic correctly, Loki was –

 

* * *

 

  _“Do you think we are_ _ **done**_ _, Dovahkiin?”_

  His voice gave her pause. She turned her head slowly, and beheld the sudden army of Lokis behind her, each an exact forgery of the original, who had regained the ability to summon his astral armor. They were all smiling at her, goading her into action. Loki expected a long, drawn out fight. Keshaara could feel the stab wound in her side starting to ache, and she knew she should tend to it before too long.

 “What else do you have in store on that tongue of yours, Keshaara?”

  He spat her name out like a curse, which made her smile.

  “Much and more, Loki of Jotunheim. My tongue is a dastardly thing. It spins power and might. I am the voice of storms and the fear of legions. And I kneel before no man.”

 “You _will_ kneel before me.”

 This time she was not fast enough to react, and he threw _her_ up against that tree in the copse of Skyrim. She was the one whose head hit the tree hard enough to make her see stars and gasp. Loki pressed his advantage, pulling her armor off of her in one savage motion before grabbing her throat with one hand and kissing her brutally.

 He bit her lip until he tasted her copper-sweet blood and she cried out. She tried to push him away, protesting weakly against his hand on her throat. He kissed her harder, not minding the blood, not minding her nearly suspiciously weak fight against him. When her fighting turned to the undulation of her body against his, when she ground her hips against him, and pulled him tighter to him, Loki snarled and pinned her up against the tree and _pushed_ until she whined with discomfort. When he shifted her body against the tree, he smelled blood. Dovahkiin or no, she bled like anyone else.

 She reached for him, and Loki pulled her away from the tree just long enough to turn her back to him and push her into the tree face-first. He held her there, one hand against the back of her skull as he bit the tender skin on her neck until he tasted blood again.

 He kissed her with his teeth pressed into her flesh, growling his possession of her into her skin, biting her shoulder until the imprint of his teeth showed up in bruises when he moved away. Keshaara returned none of his brutality, taking all of it with moans and squeals of pleasure. He carved himself into her up against that tree, ripping cloth from her and plunging his fingers into her sopping wet cunt. She screamed his name to the skies, pledging her axe to him, crying out her devotion to him, whining and whimpering for him to take her and make him his, make this whole _realm_ his.

 Loki fucked her against the tree, not caring that her back was being scraped raw against the rough bark. No, she was _his_. She was _his_ , and he made her say that over and over again. Loki made her scream until her beautiful voice left her, and then forced her to scream again. He shoved her into the tree whenever it seemed as if she was slipping, and every time, Keshaara moaned her approval of it. He twisted a hand through her hair and yanked on it as he thrust up into her, and Keshaara let him. She did not fight any of his actions, taking them all with screamed devotions. Loki was fucking her properly, and that was exactly what she wanted.

 Somehow they ended up on the loam of the forest floor, on top of his cloak. Loki had one of her legs over his shoulder and he was thrusting into her, uncaring of how many times he had cum already. He kissed her until he could taste blood on her breath and she was gasping for air beneath him. He kissed her until she stopped tasting like the husband he hadn’t met yet and only tasted like him. He kissed her voice out of her, and then bit her throat until it returned to her. She was scratched, scraped, clawed and bitten, blood was seeping from dozens of abrasions and savage bites, and still she howled for more. She needed more.

  _She was **his**_. _But she did not kneel._

 

Loki had stumbled back to his room. He was assaulted by images, by thoughts that he knew were not wholly his own, but he did not care. These were fantasies given depth and breadth and he was _burning_ inside all over again. He knew Keshaara was behind this. Only she burned him like this, only she made him so desperate for release.

 He bit back her name as he pumped his hand over his cock furiously. He could not help it. Desire had curled deep in his gut and there was no way to alleviate it. Lust was a white-hot-poker in his brain, and it made it _very hard_ for him to do anything. Somehow (he knew exactly how), he had her old travelling clothing – his clothing, really – balled up against his face. The shirt smelled like blood and sweat and earth. It did not smell _good_ , but it was the only smell he wanted in his nostrils.

 It was her, _her smell_ , underneath it all. Her smell without any perfume or oil on it. Hers. Hers alone.

 One hand held her blouse to his face and the other existed solely for him to thrust into as a desperately poor imitation of where he wanted to be thrusting instead.

 Norns he was fucking-

 

_She had him tied up, and down, his hands bound to his elbows behind his back, his ankles tied together as he knelt, all with the same long length of rope. It forced him into an awkward backbend to accommodate the position, and he was not sure that he could remain upright. Keshaara had apparently thought of this and shoved a metal bar up underneath his arms. That bar was then tied up and connected to the ceiling, leaving him practically hanging and very, very uncomfortable._

 Or at least, he would be, if Keshaara was not so damned good with everything she did.

 He was precariously balanced on his knees and toes. Loki had to struggle to stay out of pain, constantly adjusting himself, trying to find the one position he could twist himself into that would not make him ache. That was, however, impossible, as, just barely out of the light of the candles that encircled him, lurked Keshaara. She sat in his desk chair, her legs crossed, propping her chin up on her gloved hand. Her gaze did not waver.

 Loki wished the gag in his mouth was gone. It was the blouse she had worn when she had left him, his shirt, her blouse, still stained with blood and sweat. His spit made the dried-in stains soften and leech their taste back into his mouth. Drool dripped down his chin in a most unprincely manner, but he was helpless to stop it. He was naked, save for the ropes and the gag, and Keshaara was completely dressed. In her Nightingale armor, as she had referred to it once – the armor he had seen her in, in Skyrim. Black leather and ebony metal, fit so tightly to her body that he was surprised she could breathe.

 He couldn’t see her mouth. She was wearing her mask, but even with the candles all around him leaving her in deep, black, shadows, he could see the wrinkles under her eyes from her smile. She was enjoying this. Of course she was. Her pupils were wide and he could see the shallow breaths she was taking. She liked seeing him like this.

 His cock jumped as he recognized her own arousal, leaking precum in an astounding amount. Loki shifted, trying to relieve the pain in his shoulderblades from the position he was cranked into. It was starting to get hard to breathe around his contortion and the gag. His heart pounded, and Keshaara leaned forward in his chair. The simple movement did… _something_ inside of him, and he did his best to bow his head. She was his Mistress, he shouldn’t look at her.

 Bowing made his back hurt all the more, but it was needed. He should submit to her. The pain floated away from his recognition as he settled into his position. Loki could hear her stand, and approach him. His heartbeat only sped up as he heard her come closer.

 Mistress was coming and she was so close and –

 She lifted a leg and pressed her boot against his right shoulder. Loki knew better than to look up at her, but the simple push made pain flash through him. He leaned back as she pushed harder, not caring that it made the bar dig into his armpits, or overstretched his back and sides, or made his arms _ache_. Keshaara pushed, and he moved with her demand.

 “Look at me.”

 Her voice was muffled by her mask. Loki did as he was told to, looking up at her. Candlelight flickered over her form, and made the dark shadows darker. She dominated the entire space he could see. Keshaara was his entire existence in that moment. There was nothing in his senses that was not _hers_. She had bound the ropes around him, it was her taste in his mouth, her smell in his nose, her and her and her again. Loki knew better than to speak to her. She had gagged him for a reason, his tongue was not what she wanted.

 Whatever she wanted, though, he would give her. He existed to serve her. He remembered that. Keshaara must be served. She owned him. Every part of him was hers. For her use.

  _He looked at her, eyes wide. He could tell she wanted something from him. He would give her whatever she wanted. A command from her was all he needed. Did she want the light of the first star of Asgard? He would find it. Did she want him to bring her Mjolnir? He would do it. He would be worthy of the hammer for her if she wanted him to. Did she want to be Queen? He would be her consort if she asked it, handing Gungir to her and never once desiring it for himself again. She just had to **tell him** what she wanted and he would give it to her._

_“Cum.”_

 

Loki gasped, shaking himself out of the fantasy, his orgasm still echoing through him. He was sticky with his own cum, and he doubted his ability to continue this sort of thing. He was sweaty and damp, and in need of a bath (again). Trying to get his legs underneath him was an effort. His knees were weak, but he managed. Keshaara was undoubtedly behind this. There was no one else in Asgard who could manage this sort of mind- seiðr. He was only happy that she was contenting herself with debasing sexual fantasies and not anything…dangerous.

 He shirked his clothing and walked back to his own private baths room. He needed to soak and try and figure out where Keshaara was attacking him from. Not that he did not enjoy this, but this was twice, now, that she had gotten the drop on him in these sorts of things, and it was starting to become irritating. Perhaps he was not as strong a mage as he thought, if Keshaara continued to be able to work him over like this.

 Loki knew it was her, and the game was an enjoyable one, or…it would be if this was her way of inciting him to come and fuck her and he was capable of doing so. As it was, however, he could not do that. He could not go and bend her over her lovingly handcrafted tables and cabinets, and fuck her raw. He could not go and hold her in his arms as he fucked her gently on their – her ( _her_ ) bed. He could not do what his lust demanded of him because he was doing what was right.

 He slicked his hair back with a hand that he would deny was shaking and climbed into his bath. Loki was hesitant to let himself sleep, but the water was warmed to just the right temperature, and the languor of orgasm lulled him, regardless. He slept, comfortable and alone, with his thoughts.

 

* * *

 

 The evening was fast approaching and it did not seem as if she had reached the end of the line of supplicants. There was servant after servant, and while she had been gladdened to see the person sent by Fandral, which was the only person announced that she was even the slightest bit familiar with. She did her best to maintain her politician’s smile throughout it all, but it was wearing on her already frayed nerves to deal with all of these people. There was nothing interesting being said by any of them, it was all the same words being said by different faces.

 Dόmhildr smiled whenever she entered the room, acting the gracious housecarl, but Keshaara knew that the servant found all of this very amusing, as if Keshaara had done something improper and was being punished for her transgression by being forced to deal with all of these really petty annoyances all at once.

 It was starting to not even be fun to antagonize Loki. The bond in blood was already weakening as night approached. She would soon lose any contact with his mind, and wouldn’t be able to content herself with working him into a frenzy any more. Keshaara sighed as the servant she was talking to left, drumming her fingers on the arm of her chair. Perhaps she should have kept Loki from being able to orgasm again. Last time that had had…very interesting reactions and consequences.

 The long-off memory of the last night Keshaara had spent with Loki in Skyrim, perhaps greying around the edges, but still something her mind recalled with as much clarity as she could, gave her one, last, idea. It was cruel, and perhaps crossed the line of what would be acceptable, but with the bond between them fading, Keshaara really only had the last possible chance to needle Loki.

 This, of course, meant she would do her absolute best to make sure it was a fantasy that would stick with Loki for the entire evening. Something he wanted, deep inside his mind, but not, perhaps something she should guide herself. She would merely give rise to a idea, for she did not have enough magic in the bond left to guide him through a fantasy as she had done before. No, this time, she would merely find something interesting and give it the barest breath of life before letting his mind do the rest.

 

* * *

  

_He woke up in his own bed, well-rested and happy. The spot next to him, where she had been the night before, was still warm. She must not have gone far. Not with her condition, either. He was slow to get out of their bed, enjoying the warmth of the furs contrasted with the cold air of their home near Dragonsreach. Keshaara had wanted to move there, for his sake. Loki did prefer the cold._

 Slowly, he edged out from underneath the animal pelts he and Keshaara had hunted for, and then skinned and prepared together, stretching his back out. Even after all this time, he still was trying to get used to the beds here. Keshaara had tried as much as she could to make their bed similar to the one he used to sleep on, but there was just something that was never quite right. He never complained though. It was enough to have her near him when they slept. No bed in this world or in the Nine Realms was as comfortable as the bed they shared was.

 He scrubbed his eyes, still tired, but he needed to go make sure Keshaara wasn’t doing anything outrageously stupid. She needed to take it easy. She had a lot to manage now, and Loki could not help but fret over her.

 Not that she was weakened after her rousing defeat of Alduin, no. He still knew that if she reached for her axe, she could easily kill anything that came to face her, and now that all the dragons acknowledged her as _Thuri_ Dovahkiin, there was very little that would want to face her.

 He just…worried. The stairs, especially, concerned him. This was not Lakeview, where the stairs were nice and even, and had lovely banisters for her to hold onto. Here? No such thing. He had tried to get her to accept Lakeview as their home before the first instance of this malaise. It was a little warmer down there, sure, but he could handle the mild warmth if it meant she was safer. She had _insisted_ though, and now, he walked down the stairs that he swore up and down he was going to fix (because the third stair wobbled and he worried) as soon as she would sit still for one night, or at least agree to sleep in the downstairs bedroom for a week so he could re-do all the stairs in the house

 She wouldn’t. She had a valid point. There were not enough bedrooms on the lower level for them all.

 Then again, he doubted he would have stayed if she had been so easily moved. Her challenging nature was part of what drew him to her. It was impossible for him to deny the draw between them. From the very first time he laid eyes upon her, he had felt something inside _him_ need _her_.

 Her heard sounds of life from their kitchen, the clattering of plates and cutlery as Keshaara undoubtedly overexerted herself within hours of waking up. She should not be moving around so much. They both had agreed she would take it easy. It was different this time, and with her current state, so close - she needed to be resting for most of the day, not wandering around and doing chores. Of course she would forget that within moments of waking up.

 “Kesh, what are you doing?” he called out, shuffling towards her. He did not want to rush, per se, but he definitely didn’t want her to hurt herself.

 “Making, uh, breakfast, Loki!” she said, false-cheerfully to cover up the fact that she had been caught.

 “Are you doing what the healers asked you not to?”

 There was a loud clatter, a crash, and then a muffled “No?”

 He laughed, even though he was slightly worried for his Keshaara. She was in a delicate health, and he did not – he just wanted to make sure that she was safe and not harming herself.

 Loki peeked his head into the kitchen, and as he thought he would, he saw Keshaara standing over the cookfire, balancing a plate on her arm as she prepared something with milk and honey for breakfast. It was the only thing that settled her stomach in the mornings, and Loki was just thankful his sweet tooth had persisted even through the time he’d been in Skyrim. She made whole milk oatmeal drizzled with honey damn near every morning. He didn’t complain because the last time he had tried, she had locked him outside in a rainstorm she had shouted into the sky and told him that if he did not like her breakfasts, he could go try and eat some of the tartberries near by and see if she would kiss him later when his mouth tasted horrid.

 She turned a little too fast when she saw him, and nearly tripped. He rushed to her side, holding her up.

 “Yes, thank you Loki. Let go”

 He let her steady herself, with one hand on his arm before kneeling in front of her. He cradled her swollen stomach with both his hands and pressed a kiss to the apex of the curve. She had not put on much weight in her pregnancy - she never did, but there was some new fat layered over the muscles of the Dovahkiin, rounding out her body in the most attractive way possible. This was the first time she had born two at once, and the extra weight made her fuller and softer beneath his hands. Norns... _Divines,_ he loved her.

 Keshaara huffed at him, crossing her arms and resting them on top of her very protruding stomach, but when he looked up at her, she was smiling.

 “Are you ready for breakfast, then?”

 He kissed her stomach again, and was rewarded with one of his twin babies kicking him square in the jaw. Loki laughed, and stood. He took both of Keshaara’s hands in his own and kissed the ring he had given her. It had been a little difficult to explain to her why he was giving her a ring after they had been married. The amulets of Mara they had shared had been enough, she had thought. But he had insisted, and she had relented only after he had placed dozens of his own enchantments on it. That had been many years ago.

 Many years, and five children ago.

 Speaking of – the children were rushing inside. They rather enjoyed it when their mother was pregnant, because it meant sweets for breakfast if she woke up before their father did. And somehow, she did, regardless of being nearly eight months into this fifth pregnancy. For someone who had been made damn near infertile by the actions of another, she was awfully pregnant most of the time. Loki had had a lot of explaining to do when their second child was planted within her womb, and Keshaara, after a few moments of laughing, had accepted her Loki’s explanation as to why she was suddenly nearly constantly pregnant.

 Loki loved seeing her pregnant though. That would be why, for as long as she could bear it, he would make love to her, his hands on her belly so he could feel the flutter of new life beneath her skin.

 Their oldest son was the first one in, tall for his age. He had Loki’s eyes, and a battlemage’s build already. Magic burned beneath their firstborn son's skin, and already the College of WInterhold was clamoring for the firstborn child of the Archmage and Loki to join their ranks. Lokisson was already a well-known family name, and he had no doubt that their children would outstrip them as they grew. Their next three children were all daughters, each taking far more after their mother than their father, with wild-fire gold, orange and red eyes, but he could see that these three hellions would be more like their mother than him. The twins still in the womb would be “their last ones for a while” promised Keshaara. But she said that after _every_ pregnancy. And then months later, she would be in the middle of riding him through the night and **_beg_** for him to fuck her pregnant again.

 It was a vicious cycle. But Nor- _Divines_ , did he love it.

  _He bent down to pick up his youngest daughter, who promptly started tugging on his too-long hair and asking why his hair was so black when hers wasn’t and why was mom so fat and when would she be able to take them back to the Throat of the World and was Daving coming back soon? Keshaara stood next to him, her hand resting on the small of his back. She kissed his neck, the roundness of her stomach pressing into his side._

_This was his wife. This was his house. These were his children. This was his life. And he was **happy**_.

 

Loki woke up in his baths. The water had long since gone cold. He couldn’t…he pressed a hand over his heart, and breathed as deeply as he could. Keshaara couldn’t have…known. She wouldn’t have done that to him. Because he couldn’t feel her seiðr’s touch anymore. That was just him. His alone.

 The thought unsettled him. His game was becoming more and more complex the longer he waited to play it. Tomorrow, he would have to face the beginning of it, and now he was not so sure that he could win. Not because he was not a apex player of these styles of games, but because he was not sure he could play it as a game when it was becoming clear that he was not playing on a even field. Keshaara had the advantage, and he was not sure if he could allow her to keep it.

 He got out of the baths, magicking himself dry with a simple movement of his hands. Loki had much to think about, and less time than he wanted to do so. Tomorrow was important, and he had to ensure it went well.

Because he could not lose.


	29. Gipta

The Tale of the Dragonborn

The Tale of the Jotun Prince

* * *

 

 

Keshaara had been kept up until late at night, and at a certain point, she invited all of the remaining servants (who had been very quiet and polite as they waited their turn) into her room so they could introduce their patron as fast as possible. It was late and she wanted to sleep. When they were finally done, she shooed them away with a huff and retreated quickly to her room, not bothering to actually pay attention to their letters. She had stopped listening to the names hours ago and really, she just wanted to be in a nice bed and comforted by blankets and pillows. 

 The next morning, Dόmhildr assured her not every person who had sent a servant to announce their intentions to her would even show up that day to present her with a courting-gift. Some just wanted to be able to say they had tried, regardless of not actually trying. Keshaara impressed upon the other woman that she would accept all gifts given, but she was not going to accept every suitor. It was the way it went in Skyrim. All gifts were accepted, but not all suitors were.

 “How will they know if you have accepted the courtship?”

 “I’ll either verbally accept it, place their gift with the gifts of the others who have been accepted, or if they’re particularly impressive, I would gift them with a kiss or physical signal of my acceptance of them. On the other side, if a gift is particularly offensive, I will kill them.”

 Dόmhildr started.

 “You’re serious?”

 “Mmm. Courtship is a dangerous thing. I am _Thuri_ Dovahkiin. I’m allowed to destroy anything that offers me offense.”

 Dόmhildr gave her an odd look, frowning slightly.

 “You could have killed me then, when I off-”

 “Don’t be silly, Dόmhildr. You did not offer an offense so grievous as to require me to take your life. Courting, however, is a tricky thing. There are high offenses that can be offered by the actions of those seeking the right to court, and as they are presenting themselves as potential mates and this means that they are judged more harshly. I have never killed a potential courter.”

 Dόmhildr visibly relaxed, relieved that Keshaara was not waiting for a moment to destroy her for an offense offered a while back. Keshaara had needed little help in preparing for that day’s length. She had dressed oversimply again, happy to be in leather, cloth, and hardly any jewelry. She wore clothing that was far more appropriate for rough work than for meeting suitors, but when Dόmhildr questioned her on it, Keshaara only laughed.

 “I keep reminding you, Dόmhildr. I am a Nord, not an Aesir. I’m not from Asgard, and this is what I wear. I can dress Aesir all I want, but it won’t change who I am. If my suitors do not enjoy it, then they are free to leave.”

 Dόmhildr nodded, and said nothing more. She was not in the position to critique, really. Keshaara had the right of it. Besides, Keshaara had already made it clear that she was not actually interested in marrying anyone. This was purely experimental so that she could say she tried and not be bothered with this anymore. Keshaara was not interested in marriage. She wasn’t. Not anymore. After everything was taken from you, something that meant so much as marriage lost its luster.

 Keshaara walked past the basket full of letters of introduction. She did not spare them a glance, even to notice that a new letter now rested atop the pile. It was emerald green, chased in gold. Unlike the other notes of interest, it bore no name on the outside, only a simple, single, marking. She did not see it, so it didn’t matter. Dόmhildr, however, did see it, and she smiled. Frigga, of course, was right. There would be quite a brouhaha by the end of this, and Dόmhildr only hoped it ended with a minimal amount of bloodshed.

 Keshaara and Dόmhildr walked together to the place where the men interested in courting Keshaara had been told to gather. As the two women came closer to the appointed meeting area, they could easily hear quite the murmuring. Apparently this was a larger to-do than Keshaara had expected, because she slowed down to a near stop.

 “Dόmhildr, why are there so many people here? They’re not all courting me, right?”

 Dόmhildr looked around the corner for her Thane, and counted heads.

 “No, not all of these are here to court. The rest just want to see what the fuss is about. This is not normal courting procedure, and some may style themselves after you in the future. Getting gifts is a high honor, and getting gifts from…so many people is definitely interesting.”

 Keshaara huffed, and straightened her clothing. She did not want to admit it, but it did make her nervous to have so many here to just _watch_ her. She steeled herself, however, and did not let her nerves show. This was far from the most intimidating thing she had faced in her long life. And at the very least, she would have something interesting to show after she finished this whole fiasco.

 The crowd hushed when she made her appearance. The place chosen was a long, open hallway, and it was lined with people. She could not pick out, immediately, who was who. Keshaara know that at least a few of the people had to be here to present themselves to her with gifts that should, ideally, prove why she should chose them to be a courting partner.

 Frigga was standing near a chair, and smiled at Keshaara.

 “Here she is then! Keshaara, please come here. We will begin shortly. Hopefully this is all to your specifications. Those that presented their names to you yesterday, and have chosen to proceed with the process are now here to present you a court-gift.”

 Keshaara nodded, and walked forward. There were some soft whispers that followed her, undoubtedly about her current state of dress. Frigga, however, beamed at her, walking forward to envelope her in a motherly hug. Keshaara was hesitant to return the embrace, but did so after a few seconds of waiting. She was not sure why this was happening, but Frigga seemed pleased enough to try this new method of courtship.

 “Thank you, my Lady fair,” Keshaara said as Frigga pulled away from her. The High Queen fixed an errant hair, and let her hand linger on Keshaara’s cheek.

 “You look wonderful, Keshaara. Please, sit. The gathered men will begin presenting as soon as you are comfortable. How shall they be organized?”

 Keshaara sat as Frigga asked her to, looking to the Queen with suspicion and curiosity. Frigga was being almost too mothering, fussing with Keshaara’s clothing as the two talked. Keshaara kept her eyes on the Queen, but she could still hear and feel the words of the gathered others. Frigga tutted at the collar of Keshaara’s blouse, running her fingers over it until it laid flat.

 “However they best see fit? I do not particularly mind any way.”

 Keshaara was starting to grow uncomfortable with the mothering, but took it in stride. Frigga was, as someone had told her, acting as her mother because of her position as All-Mother of the Nine Realms. This may very well be normal and she did not want to possibly offend the High Queen by rejecting her attentions. But none of Keshaara’s mothers had ever treated her like this, let alone insisted upon fussing over nearly every aspect of her clothing and Keshaara was very uncertain of what was going on. This was, after all, the woman who had caught her, mid-fuck, with her son. Generally, that did not lead to the mother fussing over her clothing. Especially when she was looking for a marriage-partner elsewhere than the son.

 “Very well, then.”

 Frigga stepped back, and made some small gesture with her hand, to indicate that the process had begun. The crowd hushed, and Keshaara did her best not to fidget beneath the stares of the collected people. She was Dovahkiin, and this was merely a courtship dance that she did not wish to partake in.

 The first person to step forward offered her a beautifully ornate bolt of cloth, promising dozens more were already being delivered to her room. It was a touching gift, but Keshaara did not rise to accept it, merely gestured to her right, indicating that the person should put it down there. The man could not help his crestfallen expression, but Keshaara graced him with a smile, and a promise that she would have his gift made into some of the finest clothing for herself, which brought a small smile to his face, even as she made it clear that she did not accept him as a suitor.

 There were many more after that, and none of their gifts were acceptable to her. Raw materials received smiles, but gentle refusals of further courtship. Books got her attention, but polite refusal as well. There were animals brought, and while Keshaara liked the idea of having a hunting hawk, and would ensure the bird was well taken care of, it was not a gift befitting courtship. She was Dovahkiin, and if she were interested in such things, she could get them for herself. If she could get them for herself, there was little use in marrying someone who only brought what she could already have.

 Keshaara wondered idly if she had not explained that well enough as jewelry began to flow from the hands of her suitors. Jewelry, gems exactly like the ones she had collected in Skyrim, intricately overdesigned armor that was utterly useless in battle and barely worth the metal it was made of - all of it, accepted as a gift, no courtship accepted.

 She could tell people were starting to get irritated by her refusal of the courtships, but if she was guessing properly, she was not even halfway through the lengthy process. There were courters aplenty, and Keshaara had half a mind to turn all of them down. She could, even if it would be disappointing to Frigga, who seemed gleeful with the outcome, strangely enough. Frigga was not so brash as to actually express her enjoyment outwardly, but with every suitor Keshaara turned down, the Queen seemed to brighten.

 Keshaara was not sure if she wanted to know why.

 Still, the growing pile of gifts made part of her happy. Keshaara had taken too much of dragon-ness into her to not enjoy a well-stocked horde. There were glittering things and shining baubles, fabric and fur and all sorts of wonderous things. The Dovahkiin did quite enjoy that. It was a good pile of things.

 The next solicitor for her hand was, surprisingly, Fandral. He – even after what he had said, and having known what he knew, was still here. He held something in his hands, wrapped in a simple golden cloth. Unlike others, who had spent a goodly amount of time announcing themselves and explaining why they had brought her whatever small thing they had in hand for her, Fandral did not bother with long explanations. He simply unwrapped the gold cloth and knelt, offering the gift with a bowed head.

 Well, he may be a lot of pomp and extravagance, but Keshaara did appreciate that when it was directed at her. Keshaara lifted an eyebrow and regarded the gift.

 “You offer me a sword.”

 Fandral said nothing, but he smiled, with his head still down. Keshaara smiled, and rose from her chair and approached him, resting a hand on the hilt of the sword.

 “Do you think I am incapable of defending myself?” she asked, lifting the blade from its gem-encrusted, overwrought scabbard to test its balance. Its blade was a pattern-welded, hilted in precious gems and silver.

 Fandral knew better than to rise to the bait.

 “I am not giving you only the sword. It’s what I want you to use as I train with you. I wish to only spend time with you, and as warriors, there is rarely anything so sublime as training together.”

 “Are you going to stab me again?” Keshaara asked, still holding the blade lightly.

 Fandral smiled and lifted his head.

 “Never, my lady.”

 “I accept, then. I look forward to seeing you.”

 Fandral beamed at her, and made a quickly aborted movement for her hand. Keshaara was careful to move her hand out of his range, and shook her head ever so slightly. The memory of what he had done the last time he had made a move for her hand burned her still. Keshaara was not going to allow him the chance to insult her like that again. Fandral inclined his head to her again instead, taking her chastisement in stride and not appearing to be insulted by her abrupt movement.

 He left, and she retreated to her chair, placing the sword back in its scabbard, and then next to her chair on the left side, the only gift there. Keshaara sat again, and gestured for the next person to begin their presentation. She accepted, shockingly, three other suitors, for their gifts of flowers (she had never seen such flowers, and he had made the gesture to give her them alive, still rooted in simple terra cotta pots), a cloth called shadowsilk (that poured through her hands like liquid and shimmered and faded out of vision as soon as you even slightly moved your gaze away from it), and a single, flawless gem (it was as big as her cupped hands together and shone with cold colors, as you twisted it back and forth, the colors swirled and changed positions within it).

 The line dwindled, and many people began leaving, no longer interested in seeing Keshaara turn down so many men and favor those who seemed to be giving her rather paltry gifts by comparison. Keshaara really owed none of them an explanation of her actions. She knew what she wanted, and she knew what she did not have. This was not really about anyone other than her, and she cared not for the opinions of others.

 Perhaps that was what her last few suitors were waiting for. She declined her next suitor, and then…the next one took their time in announcing themselves. Almost so long that Keshaara thought that she had finally reached the end of the line and was done. She went as far as to make a move to stand, but rather shockingly, Lady Frigga laid a hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her back into her chair. Keshaara looked up at the Queen, confused, but Frigga merely pointed to the next suitor stepping up.

 Keshaara turned her head.

 (Keshara had faced many things in her long years. Alduin topped that list. She had chased him through the realms of Sovengarde to finally rid Mundus of his taint. She’d treated with Daedric Princes, lost any right to a death of her own choosing, and had generally found that most things no longer frightened her as much as she frightened herself. She knew there was a deep, dark power in her, and she was frightened of that. She was not scared of much else. When you are afraid of yourself because you know you possess the same blackness as the First Dragon, very little else will make you tremble.)

 Her hands shook, and she was thankful for the arms of the chair she was seated in.

 Loki stood where her other suitors had before, to the shock of many. He held no grand gift in his hands, nor was there a menagerie behind him. If Keshaara had been the sort of woman to give outward indications of her surprise, she would have done so. Instead, she merely arched an eyebrow and inclined her head to Loki.

 She bit back her words, and waited for him to move. She would not show her hand until she was certain Loki was not making fun.

 “My fair Champion, I bring you this as a gift, in the hopes that you will find me acceptable as a suitor,” Loki said eloquently, his silver tongue aiding him fantastically in soothing Keshaara’s initial worry that he was here to mock.

 He pulled a small, nondescript box out from the air. Keshaara rolled her eyes at his insistence on showmanship, but nodded for him to continue, regardless. Loki offered her a small, nearly bashful smile, and gently touched the side of the box. There was a click, audible only because of the silence in the hall, and light spilled out from invisible seams in the contraption. The audience hissed in surprise and some small amounts of fear, not liking the sudden taste of magic in the air.

 Slowly, the light reached up, and Keshaara watched in growing admiration and awe as a full sky opened up above him. It took her but a few seconds to recognize the sky as the one that hovered over Asgard, and only a few more to see gaps in the stars. Loki was not much of an astronomer, then. She nodded in appreciation, but did not move from her chair.

 Loki touched a small knot on the box and the stars swirled, changing to a sequence and pattern Keshaara did not recognize. Seven more times, the stars changed to what she assumed were the constellations of places she had not been, but the nine patterns made her think that the stars belonged to each of the Nine Realms in turn. This was nice and all, but it did not seem as if any of the charts were complete, and that was not all that impressive. Especially since he was a Prince and this was meant to be a courting gift.

 She was going to have to turn him away unless he decided to astound her within the next few seconds.

 And oh, did he ever.

 One last time, the skies changed, the magic humming enough to reverberate slightly. Keshaara almost did not care to focus on the star-patterns this time until –

 “ _Oh_.”

 The word was small as it came out of her mouth.

 She knew those stars.

 It seemed like she had barely blinked, and she was standing next to Loki, her head craned back to look at the glittering stars that now danced above their head.

 “I tried to remember where they all went,” Loki said softly, keeping both of his hands on the small ensorcelled box he had brought. "But your stars were not what had caught my eye when you and I travelled through the nights."

His sweet compliment (an exagerration, she knew, but sweet nonetheless) made her bite back a laugh, and she looked down at him for a moment before returning her gaze to the illusory stars above her. Keshaara remembered sketching the Lover on his throat, and matched his Lord to her Lady. She had not expected to see them paint the sky again. Her heart twisted, and she was not entirely sure what was causing it this time – was it homesickness? Or was she…emotional about the gift Loki had chosen for her? She did not want to devote overmuch time to it, lest she become overwhelmed, but it was hard to breathe, regardless.

 “You forgot the Roarer,” she said pointedly, not looking to Loki just then. “And the Atronach is a little off-kilter.”

 “I ran out of time, and my memory was taxed in remembering all of the constellations alone.”

 “Your charts for the other Realms are incomplete. Were you basing those off memory as well, or were you using star charts?”

 “The charts were helpful, but I was not granted the luxury of free travel throughout the Realms to check my work.”

 Keshaara hummed dismissively, turning away from Loki. She did not touch him, or reach for the gift he still held. She stared at the stars of home, mentally fixing what Loki had not managed to get right. He had not been in Skyrim overlong, but the stars were proper…enough for someone who was not as interested in the sky as she had been.

 Silence stretched for a long while, leaving some people uncomfortable with the quietude.

 “I am not in the habit of accepting unfinished gifts, Prince Loki,” Keshaara said, missing Loki’s sudden frown, and the nervous smiles of those gathered. “Your star charts of the Realms would not do you as much good as actually going to a mountaintop and looking at the stars there. I look forward to when you take me there with you so I can show you the finer points of mapping the skies.”

 She turned back to him for just long enough to tap the box and make the magic within it go dormant once again. Her eyes locked with Loki’s, and Keshaara dipped her head in a polite bow.

 “I anticipate that you will give this to me when we are done, yes? It’s not befitting for a courter to withhold such a fine gift after beginning to woo a woman of my rank.”

 Loki blinked, stunned and confused and not entirely sure what was happening because she definitely had not accepted the gift, but she had accepted the courtship?

 Then again, if she was easy to understand, he highly doubted he would be standing where he was, holding a box so heavy with enchantments that he was surprised no one had assumed it was some manner of doomsday device, looking up at Keshaara as she returned to her chair and stared down at him, a small smile still on her face.

 “Of course, my lady,” he said, pleased that his voice did not tremble, and pleased again when he saw his mother beaming from behind Keshaara’s chair as the Dovahkiin made herself comfortable once again.

 That _had_ gone better than expected.


	30. Ganga

The Tale of the Dragonborn

The Tale of the Jotun Prince

* * *

 

 

Loki was the last one to present a gift, apparently, for as soon as she sat and he left the area, Frigga was striding forward and motioning for the accepted suitors to step up once again. Keshaara did her best to keep her gaze steely and her expression muted. She did not want anyone to know she was _still_ concerned, or concerned at all, with the changes that had been made to the normal courting procedure she was used to.

 “Now, as is custom of Asgard,” Frigga started, motioning for Keshaara to stand and come to her side, “The suitors shall ask a favor of their new intended.”

 Keshaara did her best to not recoil. This was not something that she had heard of in advance. She had nothing prepared, she had nothing to give, and she knew nothing of the people she had accepted. This was not good. She did not want this. But she could not demonstrate her shock or apprehension. She was Dovahkiin, and she needed to make sure that she showed no weakness.

 She stood beside Frigga, careful to maintain her own regal composure. She was taller than Frigga, and when she chose to, she carried herself with a Queen’s grace, the same grace her granddaughter had inherited. Keshaara stood at a relaxed attention, her shoulders back and chin high, and waited. The five suitors lined up in no particularly discernible order, each offering her a smile. Keshaara did not deign to return the smiles, and instead turned her head away, just enough to make it clear that she was not pleased with this.

 Frigga arched an eyebrow, but did not turn to her, or otherwise acknowledged Keshaara’s rudeness.

 “My lady, may I trouble you for a kiss?” The man who had given her flowers spoke first, stepping out of the line and bowing low.

 Keshaara extended her left hand, fingers pointed down and her expression still haughtily distant. He kissed her ring finger, holding her hand as delicately as he had held the rare flowers he had given her. Her expression softened by the barest degrees. The man smiled up at her, and retreated. The other three, including Fandral, all asked for the same thing, and all contented themselves with a chaste touches of their lips to the flesh of her hand. The second – the one who had gifted her shadowsilk - kissed her thumb, the one who had given her the gem pressed his kiss into the dip between her wristbones, and Fandral kissed the back of her hand, and then higher up on her arm until she pulled her hand away from him.

 That only left Loki, who, as he had done before, lingered back. Keshaara did not move to rush him, nor did she even look at him. She regarded him coolly, and when he finally made the move to approach her, Keshaara was careful not to move.

 “My Champion fair, may I kiss you?”

 This time, she did not extend her hand to him, but inclined her head ever so slightly. Loki smiled at her, stepped forward, and then dropped to a knee in front of her. Gently, he took her right hand, brought it up to his lips, and then with a deft turn of her hand, kissed the inside of her wrist, just over the place where her pulse now raced. The crowd was silent, and when Loki stood again, smiling with a confidence Keshaara was certain he thought he had earned, Keshaara did not meet his gaze. She turned away, her pulse fluttering and a knot deep in her gut.

 “Is that all, Lady Frigga?”

 To her utmost pride, her voice did not waver.

 “For this day, yes. I shall have to meet with you later in order to discuss what steps are next.”

 “Just so.”

 And with that, she was free to leave. Keshaara nodded politely to the Queen, and, ignoring the frantic thrum of her pulse, she turned away. She would need some time to herself, to digest everything that had happened. She needed a lot of things, not the least of which was some time on her own. Some time on her own, and perhaps someone to fuck her. That _could_ work. Keshaara kept that thought to herself, however, and walked on, Dόmhildr at her side as soon as it was possible for the servant to be with her.

The gifts were done and Keshaara was happily back in her room, doing her best to keep from giggling at the piles of items as they were brought in to her rooms. She had the flowers from the florist she had seen in the markets, who had been doing a remarkable job in keeping her rooms well-decorated and her plants watered. Everything was home again and Keshaara was so happy. She had all new things of her own again, and that made her inner horde-sense very pleased.

Because, honestly, after absorbing so many dragons into her over her many years, she would be astounded if she had _not_ absorbed their tendency to gather and collect things in their territory.

 This room was as close as she was ever going to get to her own territory again, so it felt right to look at the quite frankly large pile of new things – _her_ things and have that possessive thrill. The only thing that would improve it would be when she had a new husband to throw into the mess of it all, his raven hair spread like an inky halo around his head.

 Keshaara shook the thought away.

 Not all of her suitors had black hair, or even hair long enough to halo like her mental image had conjured up. Rather than think of the ramifications, she contented herself with organizing her new things. The gifts from her chosen suitors were placed apart, but everything else quickly found its way into various cabinets and onto shelves. She liked the items well enough, and a few of them were passing close to being acceptable court-gifts, but they weren’t quite good enough to win her.

 Five was more than she was expecting, however.

 Loki’s presence in those five was _definitely_ not what she had expected.

 But she had accepted. He had a slight advantage over the others, as he had known her in Skyrim and had seen how much she loved the stars, but she was still not entirely certain that it was a good idea to encourage him. Frigga was his mother and the Queen on top of that, and while nothing had been said while she was there, Keshaara was almost positive that something was brewing in the Queen’s mind.

 That was a matter for another time. Right now, she had court-gifts to examine closely, and decisions to make. Perhaps Asgard was not prepared for the way she courted, but it was how things worked. They had given her gifts, and now she had to get to know them better. Gifts had to be given back, and conversations needed to be had. This was the way of things.

 

* * *

 

For a few days, she did not leave her room. Dόmhildr was the only person allowed entrance into her rooms, and anyone else who came to talk with her was summarily turned away. Dόmhildr fetched seemingly random items at Keshaara’s request, and refused to speak to any of the concerned parties about why Keshaara needed whatever it was she held in her arms. Fandral and Loki each took turns stalking just outside the door. Her other suitors had returned home after it had been made clear that Keshaara was not going to be in public for a while longer, leaving the two courtly men to try and sneak a chance to woo her without the others around.

It was a very unsuccessful attempt. The closest either of them got was badgering Dόmhildr when the poor gal’s arms were too full to allow her to open the door. Fandral gallantly offered to help, reaching for the handle of the door, but before he could touch it, the door opened just enough for Dόmhildr to edge through. The most Fandral could see was a barest glimpse of a room ravaged by disorganization, and a brief flash of russet hair. Loki still seethed when the guards told him of it later. That brief moment was more than anyone else had gotten, and he was not pleased that the moment had gone to Fandral. In his eyes, it was as if he had lost a match in the game that they were played.

 But for days after that, the secretive duo were far more careful, Dόmhildr never taking more than she could carry and open the door with at once. The whole secrecy involved grew ever more irksome, though eventually, Loki and Fandral both gave up attempting to see Keshaara when it was abundantly clear that she no longer wished to see anyone. There were reports of the armory being used, with short, terse notes from someone with tight, curling handwriting, and even though Loki thought of staking out the place, using stealth to his advantage, nothing ever came of his occasional sneakarounds. It was undoubtedly Keshaara. She still managed to remain unseen.

 So when Fandral began walking around in armor unlike anything Loki had seen him in before, Loki was suspicious. He did not want to comment overmuch, and give away that Keshaara had made him armor once upon a time as well, but the handiwork was similar to what Keshaara had done for his own. Fandral was beaming more than usual, so very pleased with his new armor that he would not tell anyone who had made it, where he had been for the three days where none could find him. Of course the rumors guessed the same things that Loki had, and Fandral only smiled the wider when he was questioned about whether this meant the Championess Keshaara was favoring him over the other suitors.

 That was grating. Loki found himself gnashing his teeth more often than usual as more time progressed. News came through the rumormill that other gifts had been received by the suitors as well, which knocked the smile right of Fandral’s smug mug. But Loki was given nothing. The suitor who had given her a gem was given an enchanted pickaxe that could find gems with an astounding accuracy. The one who had given her shadowsilk received something made of bilgesnipe skin, a wondrous gift of a cape that deflected everything thrown at it. The flowers were rewarded with a small note containing a handful of seeds from Skyrim and a short description of how to grow these herbs and what he could expect from the plants that were going to bloom from the seeds.

 They were fine gifts, all.

 But Loki received nothing. Not a word, not a note, not even a small bauble. Nothing. She did not even come to speak to him, as she had done with the others, spending days in their company, but staying far from him.

 No one dared to comment on it, but he could practically feel the rumors swirling. There was the Prince whose Champions favored everyone but him. A Prince who could not catch the eye of the woman he had made such a huge gesture to. A Prince who had never courted someone this seriously before, nor given such a huge gift of magic and devotion to anyone.

 But he did not have to suffer the indignity for much longer. When he was nearly hours from storming back to Keshaara’s room and demanding an explanation, a way to vent his frustration at being treated so callously by someone he thought would appreciate the gesture he had made, pacing his room and working himself up into a frenzy, a polite knock came at his door.

 He stormed to it, snarling as he flung the huge door open.

 “What in the nine hells do you _want_?”

 “Hello to you too, Loki. May I ask for you to come with me, or is your mood so fouled so as to not wish company?”

 Keshaara stood at his door, dressed in rough fur and leather clothing, her adventuring pack at her hip and a secondary bag slung over her shoulder. Rolled papers peeked out from the top of the shoulder bag, and strapped to the bottom of it was a rolled sleeping fur. She was clearly going somewhere.

 “Keshaara, I didn’t-”

 “Are you coming, or not? Bring your almost-gift. I have special permission to take you out of the palace.”

 “Where-”

 “Just come with me, Loki, before your foul mood colors the air any further. This way.”

 He did not stop to question her, or grab any of his own clothing. Keshaara had come for him in person, and even if he did not know the nature of her meetings with the other suitors, she was here for him and that was more than enough to scramble his mind of any coherent thought. She was here for him. She wanted him. That was enough.

 Keshaara smiled and led him through the palace. She did not reach for his hand, and he knew better than to reach for hers. It was not proper in Asgardian customs. Not in public, at least. In private, he would hold her hand and so much more. Keshaara walked ahead, and he followed, not able to suss out why she had the maps or why she had no gift to give. But he followed regardless, curious to what she had planned.

 They walked a long while, out of the palace, out of the surrounding capital city, out into the wilderness. Keshaara showed no signs of stopping, and certainly did not answer any of his questions, despite Loki’s repeated attempts to get her to tell him what he wanted to know.

 She led him along mountain paths he was all too familiar with from his time with his not-brother Thor, when they had been children. Keshaara seemed to know where she was going, and followed some predetermined route to their final destination. They climbed in silence, Keshaara leading and perfectly happy to do just that. She rarely, if ever he caught her, looked back at Loki. Her eyes were ahead, and she lead them on, picking a particularly trying pace that demanded more focus and attention than could allow for conversation.

 So they walked.

 And they walked.

 And they walked some more.

 The air was thin by the time Keshaara stopped walking. They were on one of the outcroppings of the mountain they had been traversing, standing rather perilously over the great wide nothingness that yawned below them. She gently put her pack down, and stretched, smiling out over the expanse presented before them. The sun was just about to set, and the side of the mountain they were on afforded them no view of Asgard’s capital. There was nothing but wilderness in front of them. How Keshaara had managed to find this one particular slice of the realm where nothing but wildness and sky was visible, Loki could not imagine. She had to have searched for this one place, where the mountains blocked out the sounds of the cities, and no sentient beings other than the two of them could be easily seen.

 It was…quiet.

 Keshaara rolled her sleeping fur out on the shaded part of the outcrop, straightening it carefully before seating herself down right on top of her furs. She looked to Loki with a smile.

 “I certainly hope you brought that contraption of yours. It would be rather a waste to spend the night stargazing if you had not the appropriate tools for it.”

 Loki blinked.

 “I have it, here.”

 She had asked him to, so he had. Why the double question, then? Keshaara did not respond, even as he pulled it from his pocket to show her. Instead, she reached for her bag and began pulling the rolled papers from it, spreading them out in front of her. She studied the star charts for a long while, leaving Loki to his own devices. The Prince made his decision quickly, intruding upon her personal space, sitting next to her, looking over the same charts that she was.

 The charts were very similar to the ones he had used to paint the sky in magic for her, though there appeared to be some slight differences between them. He could not quite understand why the skies appeared different in each map, and even when he was working on it, the reason had escaped him.

 “Mmm. Tonight is the only night I have the appropriate permissions to be out and about with you. It just so happens that tonight would be the best night to view the stars of your realm, if my calculations are correct. And they are. I double-checked them.”

 Loki did not know what to say, nor what to do. But he sat next to her, still and silent as she traced her fingers across the constellations of his skies. He remembered her fingers tracing those patterns on his skin. He remembered that with extreme clarity. She had once said, back in Skyrim, that his hands had been built by the Aedra themselves, beautiful enough to make any woman weep and a patron of the temples of pleasure swoon. Or something to that affect. He had no words ample enough to describe her hands. Even knowing that three of her fingers were shortened through pain and agony, even if he did not have the skill to see the tattoos she had etched her skin with more thoroughly than anyone else, her hands were beautiful.

 They were the hands of a woman used to working, a woman who fought and killed, but also loved and cared for. He had seen those hands wreak destruction unlike anything he had ever seen before. He had seen those hands flutter of her own skin, healing wounds so slight they were of almost no note. He had seen those hands move wildly through the air as she spoke with passion. He remembered seeing them dance over his flesh. He remembered her smiling as she traced the line of his jaw, her fingers barely touching his skin. He remembered so much of her.

 He covered one of her hands with his, stilling her movements. Keshaara was no longer moving, but she did not look at him. She waited.

 The sun sank lower.

 “Keshaara.”

 She tilted her head ever so slightly, acknowledging him in the barest way possible. Her eyes were still on the multitude of charts.

 He reached out to gently turn her head towards him. Slowly, she set her gaze upon him.

 “Loki-”

 He kissed her, leaning into her, doing his level best not to push her down onto the furs and ignore the proper way to court a woman like her. Keshaara was still beneath his affections for but a moment, and then she was kissing him back. Gently. Softly. So softly he ached at it all. He cradled her face with both his hands, applying just enough pressure to keep her close to him. Norns above, he did not want to let her leave.

 She leaned into him, and it was really the only invitation he needed. He wanted her, so he pulled her close to him, and she crawled awkwardly into his lap, stumbling and fumbling with everything as she kissed herself into his lap. Loki hummed happily as soon as she was settled across his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist and holding her there. He did not want her to vanish from him again. Not again.

 The passion between them was slow-building. After a long while, simple kisses weren’t enough. After hands started roaming, it was hard to stop them. After the first hesitant push that forced a article of clothing out place, the clothes became nothing more than a nuisance, and were pushed off. The air was chill, but she had no reason to be cold. Loki stoked her inner fire to the point where no temperature mattered. He pushed her down onto the furs, both of them practically naked from the waist up.

 They could not stop kissing each other. It was just impossible. His hands roved over the exposed skin beneath him, and Keshaara arched up to make it easier. He mumbled words that matched the letters his fingers could not help but sketch out, and received similar utterances in return. Keshaara urged him closer whenever he started to draw away. She knew that he should not be kissing her like this. It was, technically, against the rules of courtship. But she needed this. She needed the open sky above them, she needed Loki and the wildness and the wilderness. She needed, she needed, she craved.

 “ _Loki_ ,” she purred into his mouth. Her name rumbled out of his chest in response, and he nearly collapsed down onto her.

 “Kesh, we can’t,” he grit out as the light of the sun faded completely from the horizon. Stars glittered above them, but their glory was diminished by the twin suns that stared up at him.

 “I am well aware of that. I just need you Loki. For tonight. I will not force your hand to do anything you don’t want to do-”

 Loki grunted, and ground his hips against hers. He wanted to do her. Keshaara sighed happily, a blush starting across her cheeks.

 “But I need to be near you. Divines, so close. I will show you the stars and everything else tonight. But. But…I-”

 He silenced her with a kiss, keeping her traitorous thoughts quiet. He didn’t want to hear what she was going to say next. He could not stand it. Loki rolled onto his side next to her, gathering her close to him. He could feel her pulse thudding beneath her skin and it slowed substantially as he continued to hold her still. Keshaara curled into him, twining her legs with his and cradling her arms in between the both of them. Loki moved with her, knowing instinctively how to move and twist with her so that they were both comfortable – his arm under her neck, one hand on her hip, her leg up over his hip, her hands pressed to his chest.

 Keshaara mumbled her happiness into his neck, vainly tried to wiggle just the slightest bit closer, and then drifted into a pleasant half-sleep.

 Loki did his level best to stay awake, he needed to watch the sky to see when it was time for stargazing, but Keshaara was a warmth against his skin, and before he could fight too hard for consciousness, he slept.

 He was roused by Keshaara growling, and woke up to see her standing protectively over him, crouched low, with magic sparking at her fingertips.

 “Kesh?” he asked, pulling his armor over and around him. She wore nothing more than what she had worn when they had walked out here, and that concerned him.

 “Mer. I smell _mer_.”

 “Keshaara, there are no mer here.”

 “Loki, I _smell_ them. Elves. Mer. I smell them. They smell like frost. Like giants too. Like you.”

 His blood ran like ice.

 “Their minds search for you. Someone from the palace told them that you would be here. Someone wants you dead. They smell of…anger. They are too close for us to run. They know we are here.”

 Loki reached up for her, trying to urge her away from the battle. She allowed him to stand, but did not let him take her hand. If what she said was true, there was very little the two of them could do. They had to make a run for it. His magic was not enough to transport them all the way back to the palace. Not the both of them. He could send her back and remain behind.

 “Do not send me anywhere. I do not know much of Asgard. You do. If you are taken I cannot find you again. It will not be an option.”

 She was right. But there were no other options. The sounds of the hunters came closer, and Loki readied his magic. Keshaara stepped away from him, reaching for something on a chain that hung beneath her shirt. Her magic hummed around her hands, centered on the talisman. She was so intensely focused that she did not see the brigands closing on them. Loki hissed a warning at her, reaching a hand back towards her. She batted his hand away and snapped the talisman in two.

 Keshaara pressed the newly broken half of the talisman into Loki’s palm, and tucked the other half, still on the chain, back under her shirt. She swallowed heavily, and then turned to him. In full view of the pursuers, she pulled him close to her, kissing him fiercely.

 “Find me, Loki. Please,” she whispered against his lips.

 Before he could process things, before he could react and tell her no, before he could stop her, and move her out of the path of the pursuers (they had hands on her, but their hands passed through him), before he could – **_Norns_** before he could grab her closer, she was pulled away from him, and he felt the punch of magic at his gut. He was thrown away from her, consumed by magic and power. Her transportation spell was not neat, it was not anything like he had experienced before. He rematerialized in her room, stumbling as the world around him spun and twisted.

 Loki was not so unused to travel by magic that he was going to vomi –

 No, he _was_ going to retch. The world around him was spinning faster and faster, even though he had reached the destination Keshaara had set for him. It was not until Dómhildr grabbed hold of his arm to steady him did the spinning fade away. He nearly collapsed into her, his legs suddenly going out from underneath him. She was screaming, asking what had happened, where was Keshaara, what was going on? Loki was barely aware of the half-talisman pressed into his hand, but did not let it go. Not ever.

 “She was _taken_ ,” he managed to grit out before darkness took him.


	31. Stela

The Tale of the Dragonborn

* * *

 

 

They took her. She did not fight them as well as she should. Loki had to be safe. She was his Champion, he was her Prince. In the time it took for her to ensure he was away and safe, the hunters closed in on their rock outcrop. She had brought no weapons ( _stupid foolish girl you are never safe_ ), but she always had her magic. Fire was her first defense, as ever, and she spun it in mad circles around her.

 There were twenty hunters. Not too many for her to battle off, even when she had no backup. No, what tilted everything in their favor was, again, a poisoned blade that snuck too close to her skin. The poisons of Skyrim were known to her, and she had had centuries to acclimate herself to those poisons. She could metabolize them within herself, taking their danger away within moments. Even the poisons that stripped her of the ability to sense magicka were of no concern to her.

 But Asgard had something different.

 The blade touched her and ice crawled through her skin. It was not a poison like any she had encountered before. Her chest constricted, breathing became nearly impossible, and she knew she could not speak. Her mind scattered, and magic became a task that would escape her. Not because she could not comprehend it, but because she was not able to gather her mind and words together in a coherent manner.

 Physical might it was, then.

 She snapped a kick up into the chin of the not-mer, smashing his jaw in with enough force to send him flying over the ledge into oblivion. Keshaara was panting already, trying to keep her vision clear and her lungs full of air, but both were losing battles. Breathing was becoming ever harder, and her vision swam.

 That did not stop her.

 She threw another two not-mer over the edge of the cliff, stole the weapon of a third and swung it in vicious, tight arcs around her. She felt blood wash over her arms, and knew that to mean she had injured the ones she fought against. It wasn’t enough. She had to take down as many of them as possible, she had to hold their focus for as long as possible, she had to give her magic time to make sure Loki was safe. The longer they looked at her, the longer they fought her, the longer he would have to rouse guards, to tell Heimdall to turn his eyes upon her.

 She had to stall.

 Her vision was gone completely. She could see nothing buy a grey fog. Each breath was a battle that had to be fought as hard as she had ever fought against Alduin. But she kept going, relying on smell and sound alone to force her opponents away from her. Away. Kill. Away. Maim. Away. Stay away.

 There was no breath to draw in to speak, to scream her rage. She had to fight.

 Grey gave way to black.

 Her stolen weapon was taken from near-nerveless fingers. Keshaara fell.

 

* * *

 

 She came to in agony. Her gasped curses were muffled by a gag that tasted of leather and metal, and when she tried to move, to understand how her body was positioned, aftershocks of pain rippled through her. It felt like tens of thousands of needles were in her skin, and every movement jostled them horrifically. Her mouth was dry, but that was because of the gag.

 Slowly, she worked out that her arms were bound behind her back, and that whatever was binding her was keeping her magic at bay as well. Perhaps it was the residual poison, perhaps it was something in the bindings itself. She could not tell. Keshaara blinked her eyes, trying to clear her vision, and it became apparent that she was blindfolded as well.

 Sighing mightily, she pulled at her bindings, trying to get free. In reward for that action, someone cracked her across the back of the head with something that felt remarkably like a staff. She collapsed forward, unable to catch herself. The ground beneath her was cold. Not as cold as ice, perhaps, but cold. It was stone. Stone, but rough. She was outside. She was still outside. A breeze rolled through the area, carrying the comforting scent of people on it. Aesir. She smelt Aesir. Not nearby, but within a few miles. Had her ankles not been shackled, she would have ran.

 Instead, she heard whispers. Too far away for her to make sense of the words. The mer-smell did not dissipate. They were nearby then. And with them, she smelled Jotuns. Jotuns were closer to her. Hovering. The cold-smell hung around them heavily. Keshaara was thankful that even though the Daedra had demanded that she pledge herself to all of them equally, that pledge had meant surrendering being a pure were of Hircine to being an unholy amalgam of Hircine and Molag Bal’s only pets.

 She could smell them. She could smell their blood. Right beneath the skin. Blood. Blood, if she just had her mouth free she could have their blood. Their blood. Right beneath the skin. She could smell them. Fear. There was fear. Not of her. But there was fear. If she had her arms free, she could show them fear. She would tear their hearts from their chest and show it to them, still beating. She would show them fear, she would show them blood.

 The beasts in her skin itched her flesh. She wanted to kill them. Fury boiled _her_ blood.

 The whispers grew louder, more frantic, and she could begin to almost make out the words. They whispered words of magic, wondering if **she** would replace **he** , wondering if the Tess-er-act would choose one over the other or demand both, wondering if there would be another conduit chosen. One like her, she could be controlled.

 Keshaara wanted to howl.

  _None controlled her. She was a hurricane, a storm. She was indomitable. She was impossible. She was Dovahkiin._

 “He comes,” the voices hissed, excitement bleeding into their voices. “He _brings_ ,” they crowed, hoping against hope that Keshaara would not hear. Let them think her deaf. Information was what she needed.

 It was the mer-smell whose voices trembled with excitement. The Jotuns were quiet. Keshaara noted that. That cooled her fury the slightest bit. There was more going on.

 She mulled this as best she could, wondering at what they could mean. She knew only what she could piece together, and it was straining everything in her to remain still on the ground, and not give any indication of the apoplectic rage that burned her.

 But when she smelled junipercoldearthfrosthomecoldgold her heart stuttered. Her body seized and she struggled against her bindings.

  _Loki Loki Loki Loki no Loki go away Loki why are you here go away Loki I trusted you please trust me Loki go home Loki please Loki leave me Loki Loki Loki_

 Someone stepped on her shoulder, pinning her down beneath them. She only struggled harder, kicking and growling against her gag. The words spoken by others did not matter to her, she did not want to hear why Loki was here because he was _here_ and she needed to send him away. These not-mer would hurt him, their blood was tainted with greed and lust and it wasn’t like his blood. His blood sang songs at her, calling and cajoling, trying to soothe with a steady beat she could feel in her fangs.

 Fangs, fangs, she had fangs. The leather was shredded beneath her quick-working jaw and she pulled against the bindings on her arms. The foot on her pressed harder, and she heard-felt Loki’s pulse pause.

  _fight fight fight bring your magic to bear destroy them you can do it you must do it because he will be hurt if you don’t reach for me touch me pull me i need to use you you need to use me come now dragon grab me take me claim me_

The voice was not hers, and it had neither smell nor pulse. But it made good points. Keshaara needed to fight. She had to fight. Someone grabbed her by the elbow, brushing the foot off of her shoulder, and pulled her up to her feet. Keshaara was careful to struggle to get her feet beneath her, turning her head from side to side to try and work the gag or the blindfold off. Her hands were a lost cause but if she could just see then she could direct her magic.

 “Give us the Tesseract, and you can have your whore back.”

 The voice came clearly this time, and some of the madness swirling in her mind faded at it. Loki’s whore? Was that what she was? Was that what they thought of Keshaara?

 “Bring her here then.”

 Was that what he thought of her?

  _Enjoing her, she is my Champion_.

 Loki’s Whore?

  _His closet was filled with clothing for another woman, his mother objected because we were not doing what was proper._

 She was pulled forward, towards Loki-smell, and went willingly. Whores and Lovers, there was not much difference. She could handle that as long as she had her magic back. Just the manacles on her wrists. Just take them off. She would kill them all because she was his Champion, even if she was also his Whore.

 Something that smelled too familiar passed in front of her. Something that made her think of Winterhold and a battle that nearly cost the world everything. Something that ripped space and time to shreds, even long after being sealed, something she had thought destroyed, contained, removed. Psijics were very rarely so unreliable.

 Loki’s hand grabbed her by the upper arm, pulling her flush to his side. Keshaara could not do anything, not move or breathe, or think. The power that had been traded for her – Did Loki know? He had to. He had to know what he had just done.

 There was a terse silence, a calm before an explosion. Keshaara felt the warning rise up with the hair on the back of her neck. She had no voice to warn Loki, no way to tell him to move, so she did all that she could do – with her hands behind her back and ankles rather neatly chained together, she still manages a mighty shove. Loki, even as he readied himself for whatever eminent betrayal was unfolding, was not expecting her action.

 She was strong, she was _incredibly_ strong, and her mothers had always lauded her basic fighting stances. Keshaara was a rock, an immovable mountain, and when she slammed into someone, they tended to move. Loki was really no exception. He stumbled away from her, tripping over his own feet and falling with an undignified-sounding “Kesh!”

 Keshaara felt the surge of power without seeing it, felt the power curl over her, and then the half-familiar hook in her navel flinging her across the Nine Realms all over again.

 She hits the pillar in the new place with enough force to rattle her bones and shake her mind. She stumbles, using the damned thing to help her stay on her feet, propping her shoulder up on it and bracing her feet until everything stopped swimming. What happened, first, however, was that a fierce biting cold seeped through the pillar into her shoulder and she reeled, cursing against the half-there gag.

 “Queen?”

 Keshaara whipped her head around, trying to locate the voice, but wherever she was now, it was echoey and the constant head-hitting was starting to make her feel woozy.

 Actually, that woozy feeling was getting worse. She felt the world spinning, and she was quite sure it was doing no such thing. Her feet tripped over nothing and she stumbled back down to her knees. The same cold as before reached up through her, piercing her through with the biting cold. She whimpered against the gag, trying to get her feet back underneath her so that cold could be made to be bearable, but every time she tried to stand, she only felt dizzy again.

 Someone grabbed her by both shoulders and hefted her back to her feet. Their hands were colder than the pillar or the floor had been and when she turned her dizzied senses towards him, she smelled the cold of Jotuns. Keshaara shivered fiercely, but the hands did nothing more than reach for the blindfold, pulling it away from her with a surprising amount of gentleness. It had, apparently, remembered her voice and knew better than to allow her it.

 Light assaulted her, reflected off snow and ice, and she immediately closed her eyes as tight as possible, flinching away from the overstimulation. The Jotun covered her eyes with one massive, cold hand, mumbling nicities under his breath, or at least, whatever passed for niceties for Jotuns.

 Keshaara shivered again, and felt the flush of shapechanging race across her. The cold faded to a pleasant chill, and when she carefully opened her eyes again, the bright snow-light no longer hurt her. That was one, very small, advantage to Jotunheim. She could adapt to fit in here.

 “Queen. Come.”

 She blinked up at the Jotun, noticing the lack of an arm and immediately making the connection back to the Jotun she had attacked when she had first fell into Jotunheim. He held a hand down to her, and she made a show of demonstrating that her arms were still constrained behind her back. He did not untie her, nor did he stoop to free her from the manacles around her feet. She was a prisoner here. They had stolen her in the middle of what she assumed was a trade-off for her and the Tess-er-act.

 The Jotun nudged her along, moving her towards a different part of this huge world. A desolated palace of ice, crumbling and shattered loomed in front of them, and the Jotun led her inside.

 Belatedly, Keshaara remembered Heimdall. Heimdall the all-seeing. In charge of the Bifrost. When Thor and the Warriors Three had been here on that first day, they had called to Heimdall and he had responded, tearing them away from Jotunheim and back to Asgard. Perhaps that was why they did not untie her feet. No matter. She just had to get her hands free. She needed a pick and maybe five minutes and then she could run. Run and call for Heimdall. The plan was set, then.

 The moment she saw something she could use – a small piece of wire, used once as an anchor for some sconce or another, long since broken – she manufactured a stumble towards it, falling and tripping over herself and her binding chains. Her escort was not fast enough to react, and made panicked noises of surprise. She pulled the wire free as he helped her back to her feet.

 The lock was not nearly as complex as she had thought. Or perhaps her skills as a thief had gotten so much better than expected, that she had underestimated her skills. Regardless. The manacles around her hands fell free, and blessed, glorious magicka roared through her body again. A targeted blast of fire severed the chain that bound her ankles together. Faster than her escort could react, she turned heel and sprinted back towards the way they had come.

 “Wuld _nah kest_!”

 She was out of reach, and far away, the skies opening up overhead.

 “Heimdall!”

 She heard the roar of the infuriated Jotun from behind her and ran faster. He had the advantage of size and stride, and was charging towards her.

 “Heimdall! _Wuld nah kest_!”

 Again, she moved out of his grasp, flying forward faster than he could run. She needed more than speed though. She had to get away. She looked desperately at the storm-covered sky, hoping to see the arc of the rainbow breaking through the storms.

 “Heimdall! Heimdall _please!_ ”

 Keshaara saw the blooming of light ahead of her, and raced for it. Heimdall would make sure she was safe, Heimdall would take her back to Asgard away from the Jotuns. She ran. She ran and prayed against all possibility that she would make it.

 Jotuns rushed her from all sides, and without thinking she threw her voice at them again.

 “ _YOL TOR SHUL!”_

 The flames that engulfed her were white-hot, and drove the Jotuns away from her for long enough for her to get closer. Closer close closer she was almost there but- a hand wrapped around her bicep with crushing force, pulling her away from the light, away from her chance for escape. She kicked and screamed as more hands pulled at her, burning her with ice-cold touches. They hefted her.

 “Heimdall! **Heimdall!** ”

He did not come.

  “ _Loki?!”_

Nor did he.

 “Odahviing! _ODAHVIING! DURNHEVIIR!”_

 Nor did they.

 They grabbed her, one clamping a huge hand around her mouth, and another fumbling to press the cursed metal back into her flesh in an attempt to cut her magic off. Red light flared at her hands and she forced _fear_ at the Jotuns holding her. One stumbled, and she wrenched an arm free. Conjuration took more focus than she had, but she had her destruction. She always could destroy.

 Lightning scorched the air, huge bolts of it that cut through bodies with ease. She was a storm, she was a whirlwind. She was oncoming death, Thane, Ysmir.

 A hand moved from her mouth enough –

 “Shadowmere, to me!”

 The hand returned, holding her painfully tight to a chest. The dead rose as the light at her hands turned a sick blue-green color, and began tearing into the still-standing Jotuns. She pulled and pushed and her magic exploded over and over again, lightning and fire bursting through the air in great jets of power as she fought.

 The rainbows still lit the sky and she needed to be there. She had to get back. The monster under her skin burst out and she was all at once were, standing tall and howling her fury. She ripped arms from sockets, bit through necks with one clean snap of her jaws. She caught ice-daggers in her fur and flesh, not caring that the wounds were grievous. She wanted to escape, she wanted to get away.

 But they had numbers unending, and every time that accursed metal touched her skin, her spell would escape her. She slipped back into her Nordic form, and was overwhelmed immediately. She had gotten no closer to the rainbow bridge, and no one had come to help. She was alone. Her final scream was one of betrayal and hurt, before the Jotuns covered her mouth, and chained her again. The dragged her back into the palace, and she fought the entire way. She would not go quietly, she would not, she _would not_.

 They dragged her away and she fought until she had no strength left.

 

* * *

 

They had waited for her to be close to slumber before sneaking in to her cell. She had expected that, but none of her feigned sleep had ever drawn them in. Her cell was ice, and the constant cold sapped her energy more quickly than she had imagined it would. The chains that bound her were long enough for her to walk a few paces in either direction, but it was not long enough for her to reach the door to the cell. Her magic was shackled along with her wrists, and she had been gagged with something that tasted of metal and magic. Keshaara had no urge to test the thu’ums within her against that gag. She could feel her magic and her thu’ums in her skin, but she could not force it out of her body. It was stuck inside of her.

Eventually, the need for sleep overtook her. She heard no sounds of rescue, no great whinny of her steed, no roar of a dragon. No one came for her. Sadness gave way to sleep, and she curled herself into the nearest corner, trying to be small and out of the way.

She woke when an ice-cold hand touched her skin, and saw a trio of Jotuns, each massive compared to her, and holding an odd assortment of items. A needle laced with a worryingly long golden thread, a shimmering blue box, and a knife that she could practically taste the edge of already. They were too close for her to make an escape attempt. They were too close for her to try anything, but she kicked anyway, she moved anyway, she strained and punched and growled and tried to scream anyway.

It didn’t help.

 They pinned her down, and she clutched at the talisman she still wore around her neck, screaming for help as blade and needle breached skin.

 None came.

 She was alone.

 

 

 

  _fight fight fight bring your magic to bear destroy them you can do it you must do it because he will be hurt if you don’t reach for me touch me pull me i need to use you you need to use me come now dragon grab me take me claim me_

_come now dragon take me claim me i am power and might and you can have it all take me claim me he will die soon if you do not take me claim me_

_come now dragon_

_come now_

_dragon_


	32. Reiðr

The Tale of the Jotun Prince

* * *

 

 

Keshaara had sent him away from her. That was the first thing he managed to ascertain. The second? She had not come with him. No, she had sent him away from her, and stayed in his place, only giving him a broken talisman in return. A talisman that sang magic to his senses, but it was broken and only in half.

 He held onto Dómhildr until everything stopped spinning, and then for a few seconds longer.

 “My Prince, what do you mean they have her?”

 “Dark elves, Jotuns. They came while we were stargazing, and took her. She sent me away from them. She did not come here with me. I have to – I need the guards, we have to go find her.”

 He looked out of Keshaara’s windows, towards the mountain range they had been traversing together, knowing that right now, there was nothing he could do to protect her. She had kissed him fiercely unrepentant, and shoved him through, back here.

 “Prince Loki, take a moment to steady yourself. I will get the guards. Go to your room and rest. She showed me the path she was going to take you on, I will send the guards there. We will get her back, Prince Loki. Please, go rest.”

 Loki, surprisingly enough, did exactly that, wandering back to his rooms even as Dómhildr rushed to find the guards. He walked inside his own room, letting the door shut behind him. How had he not managed to stay her spell? Together they could have fought the interlopers away. She could have stood beside him and raised magic unending. But she sent him away, instead. Why. Why would she do that.

 “Prince Loki.”

 The voice was unfamiliar. He spun on the intruder, his armor snapping back around him.

 “Do not bother with armor. I am not here to harm you. I am here to inform you of the situation.”

 A Dark Elf of Svartalfheim stood in his room, masked, diminutive, and apparently unarmed. Loki did not for one moment believe that there was no weaponry on the small elf, but he was not going to say anything about it. Mer. Keshaara had said _mer_ , and now there was one looking at him.

 “Go on.”

 “We have your… _Champion_ , as the others call her.”

 Loki did not like the way the elf’s voice curled around ‘champion’. There was something there, something he could use. If they did not believe she was as powerful as she actually was, perhaps they would underestimate her and she could escape with him.

 “I am aware that you posses what is _mine_. Yes.”

 He could not see the expression on the elf’s face, but their body language told him everything he needed to know. They assumed much of Keshaara’s and his relationship. That was what they wanted to think. He would allow them to think that. Because it may keep her alive for the littlest bit longer if they did not think her of importance to him. Possessed **by** him, yes. But important **to** him, no. That must be secret for a while longer. For her safety.

 “We do not want her. Nor do we wish her harm. We want the Tesseract. Bring it, and you can have her.”

 He needed to be careful in this instance. Overstatement or understatement each could destroy whatever they thought of him and Keshaara and put her in undue danger.

 “She is a whore. What makes you think she is worth the Tesseract. Even if I could get it – and I do not think Odin Allfather will just _hand_ me that particular artifact to trade for an out-lander – what makes you think I would give it to you?” He had to work hard to make his voice bite over his lies this time. It had been easy once, but it never felt right when it was about her.

 “The Jotuns.”

 Inwardly, he flinched. Her time on Jotunheim…he had never thought to ask her what had happened there. He had been too wrapped up in her _being_ there with _him_ that he had never asked. That was an oversight. If the Jotuns had touched her, it was possible that her Queen’s Crown had been seen by one of the Jotuns, or multiple Jotuns, exposing her as a possible heir-birther to the throne of Jotunheim. Laufey was, after all, dead.

 “I… _see_.”

 “So we know you’ll trade the Tesseract for her. Whore or not. They see her as a Queen, as rare as Queens are for them, they are rather excited at that. You know that much. They want her to sit atop the icy throne and would rather see you dead. She is Queen and they do not need you. I do not think that plays into your game. We do not care for that game of yours. We just want the Tesseract.”

 He grunted, and turned away. The messenger took that as a dismissal and bowed low.

 “You can find her, I am sure. We will be waiting for you. Do not dally overlong, the Jotuns do not care for the Tesseract now with the Queen in their grasp.”

 Loki waved a hand, and the messenger moved away, vanishing back into the night they had come from. The guards were rallied, he could hear them outside the door, along with Dómhildr’s snapping commands. Keshaara had a good servant in Dómhildr, he knew that much. But Dómhildr would not be able to do what he now had to do now.

 He clenched his hand, and even now, he could feel the burn on his knuckle, where Keshaara had kissed him before she had sent him home from Skyrim. She kept doing that. She would kiss him, and then send him away from her. Twice now.

 Loki needed to tell his mother about this. Dómhildr had undoubtedly already informed Frigga about Keshaara being taken, but it did not feel right to undergo something so severe without telling her why her son was doing this. Loki did love the woman who called herself mother, and he wanted to tell her his reasons for doing what he was doing. She was important enough to know. She was his mother.

 He left his room in a rush, not bothering with his magicked armor, and went directly to his mother’s own rooms in the palace. He hoped Odin would not be there, so he could tell his mother precisely what was happening. Frigga would understand. Before he recognized it, he was at her door, and it was opened by his mother.

 “Frig-”

 She enveloped him in a hug tighter than any she had ever given him.

 “My son, Dómhildr already told me they took her. What happened?”

 “They took her. She gave me this,” he showed her the talisman that hummed magic at him but that he could not yet manage to decipher, “And then sent me back here. Now there are svartalfar demanding the Tesseract in exchange for her return and I need to go take it.”

 He spoke all in a rush, trying to get the words out and praying his mother wouldn’t judge him harshly. Frigga took the talisman from his hands, turning it over and over in her hands.

 “Smart girl, Keshaara. She has the other half of this talisman? And she enchanted this moments before she was taken?”

 “Yes, she broke it in two right before they came, but moth-”

 “Go. Get the Tesseract. I will do what I can to explain this to Odin, and dismantle the spells I can to keep you undetected. Go. Come back to me when this is done.”

 His mother’s permission…her _approval_ should not have surprised him, but it did. She enveloped him in another fierce hug, and then stepped away.

 “Bring her home safely, my son.”

 Her curled magic around him, and vanished. His mother knew now, and he prayed she would understand enough to keep Odin from harming Keshaara in retaliation. She was his Champion, any punishment for him could be passed on to her and it would count as if it were him. And…right after his courtship, Odin could be cruel enough to try and be intentionally harmful to her. He had only wanted his mother to understand why he was doing this, and now she was helping him with his task. It was for Keshaara. This was for her. He was going to play a hand he had hoped to keep hidden. He had a plan, he had had a plan, at least.

 Loki rematerialized in the well-guarded room, not a single guard alerted to his presence. It was a skill, to arrive in places where no one thought he could get to, silent and hidden from the world, and he thanked his mother for her teachings. Odin would use his mere _presence_ here as a way to put him back in that prison cell for the rest of eternity, if he found him. If. If was a good word at this point. All the weapons that Odin had collected and stolen, all of them were here, under careful watch by the guards just outside of the door.

 His fingers itched. The room hummed with magic, thrumming with violent spells meant to dissuade with deadly force if anything was disturbed that should not be. With the loss of the Destroyer, the spells that now lay on the room were nearly perfunctory. The Cask of Ancient Winters sat on its pedestal as it had before, and he sneered at it. All his plans had been upended when he had first touched that accursed thing.

 But the Cask was not why he was here. He came for the Tesseract, and its powers.

 The Tesseract was kept under layered enchantments, supposedly out of his reach, like everything else in this room. Then again, he was a freedman when they had assumed he would never be, and the magic was easy to breach. Easier than it should be. Even though there had been time unending for these spells to be changed, altered, otherwise transformed in any way to keep Loki from touching the Tesseract, nothing was different. The spells were the same, and he knew that he could get through them. He prayed to the Norns, and after a moment, to the Divines as well (this was for Keshaara), for the strength he needed to resist. Getting into the vault was only the first step. The next was to take the Tesseract and not succumb.

  _hello hello hello you came back to me you were always going to come back to me take the throne take the kingdom take the realms they are yours surrender to me and i will give you power you came back let me give you everything you want_

The ‘voice’ of the Tesseract, the singular reason that made resisting Thanos and the Other so difficult reached for him. The voice that cajoled and pleaded and demanded and gave.

  _I must protect Keshaara. I must._

_yes yes i know her protect her take me take her i can give you power to do that take me to her take me surrender to me you came back go find her for us_

 He thrust a hand through the guardspells, and it parted so easily that he nearly winced. Of course. Of course it would have been this easy. Of course the power for the throne had been just here this entire time. He could have taken the Tesseract whenever he wished to, and no one would have been able to tell him to stop. His fingers grasped the box, and lifted it off of the pedestal it sat on. The spells unwound around him, the Tesseract destroying them completely, without letting them send an alarm out.

 Once again, he held power and might in his hands. If he had the scepter, if he had just the slightest modicum more power, he could take Asgard for himself.

 For a moment, the craving consumed him, wrapping him in the comforting cloak of power and might and he knew he could do anything. Anything he wanted.

  _I must protect Keshaara._

 “I must,” he said softly, and the compulsion faded.

Now he was just a thief, standing in Odin Allfather’s vaults, holding a weapon he had used to wage war against the Midgardians in his hands again. He was going to be thrown in prison. But…Keshaara would be safe.

 With the Tesseract, finding where things were was simple. He merely had to think of where Keshaara could be while he held the damned box and it would show him. He would know – he _did_ know. It was that simple now. The power of the Tesseract was overwhelming. The staff had lightened the load, distanced him from hit, but the Tesseract had always been the brute power behind it. Without Thanos and the Others to temper it, every dark corner of his mind was open to the Tesseract’s power. There was nothing to hide. He couldn’t. But that did not matter.

 “Take me to her.”

The Tesseract was ever so glad to do so. The Tesseract, an emotionless void of power, moved him through space to drop him, unceremoniously, about five hundred yards from where Keshaara was, just in front of two very large Jotun guards. They started, leveling icy daggers at him in preparation to battle, and even as they recognized who he was and what he held they did not relax. The Jotuns truly did not trust him.

 He had killed their King, after all.

 But they let him pass.

 He pulled his armor back around him, intent upon appearing as regal as possible in this instance. Weakness would not become him. Loki walked towards where the Tesseract told him Keshaara was, each step measured and methodical. He was a King without a throne, and he needed to choose his walk carefully if he wanted to convince everyone that he was truthful. The Tesseract pulsed in his hand, enough to give the impression of power.

 This was not the place where he and Keshaara were going to see the stars. They had moved her.

 He walked up the path to the natural stone dais where the svartalfar had her, guided on the way by the glaring visages of elves and Jotuns alike. He paid them no mind. He was King, and he needed to react as such. The vegetation was trampled underfoot, and he could nearly smell the crushed leaves as he walked over them. He knew Keshaara could, with her senses as keen as they were.

 Whispers dogged the air around him as he advanced, and when he finally stepped up onto the dais, he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from exploding. The Tesseract did not make anything better.

  _they took her they have her look at her she is bound and gagged and blind look at what they did to her did they do anything else you know that others have hurt her what makes these any different kill them maim them make them pay take what you want with fire and blood she is your dragon why do you hesitate take them kill them_

He had to shake the Tesseract’s words out of his head, and then turned to the tallest svartalfr, his eyes narrow, chin high and shoulders back. He was a King.

 “You have come, with the Tesseract.”

“That was the nature of the exchange presented to me.”

“As you say. There are no others with you.”

“As _you_ say.”

He saw Keshaara stir from her position on the ground, her arms and ankles shackled, a blindfold and gag around her eyes and mouth. He did not move towards her, but the movement drew enough attention for a reaction from the closest svartalfr. Loki had to watch, his face betraying nothing, as the svartalfr lifted a foot and stepped on her shoulder, pinning her to the ground. He was _pleased_ when Keshaara fought back, twisting and kicking as best she could. He even heard a half-muffled growl.

  _That’s my Kesh._

  _yes yours your kesh yours yours yours_

His attention on Keshaara was noticed, and the leader of this particular group of svartalfar smirked at him.

 “Give us the Tesseract and you can have your whore back.”

 So that particular half-truth had bloomed among these people. The svartalfar grinned, but the Jotuns who heard tensed and glared at Loki. He paid them no attention.

 “Bring her here then.”

 She was hoisted to her feet, and Loki felt blood bloom from his cheek. He had bitten through it. He swallowed the blood and whatever remaining hesitance remained within him faded as he passed the Tesseract to the nearest Jotun as he touched Keshaara’s arm. He pulled her close to him, his grip tighter than a vice. They would not take her from his side again.

 There was ti be something else. The svartalfar had a hand held out to the Jotun holding the Tesseract and he was not so stupid to think they would just let him and Keshaara walk away. What he did not expect was for the Jotun to pull a blade of ice from his hand and stab the nearest svartalfr. The shock of betrayal rippled through the elves, but the Jotuns had clearly been waiting for this very moment and were tearing through the ranks of the dark elves.

 A Jotun lunged at them, and Keshaara, darling Keshaara, dropped her center of balance low, twisted and rammed her shoulder into his ribs hard enough to knock him off balance and out of the way.

 “Kesh!” he called out, turning as best he could.

 He saw her vanish, pulled through a rip in the fabric of space by a blue arm, and the Jotuns that still survived did the same. Loki was left, struggling to stand amidst a scene of chaos.

 The Jotuns had the Tesseract and Keshaara. They had Keshaara. He…he ran. He ran back for the capitol of Asgard, tripping over his feet and trying to run as fast as he could. He stumbled and caught himself, stepping over the bodies of the dead elves. Loki ran and ran and ran and would have run all the way back to the palace if it were not for a sudden interruption in the form of a great black horse.

 A horse he had seen before.

 “Shadowmere?”

 The horse stamped its hoof and threw its head wildly. It was the demon-steed that Keshaara had rode. Loki reached for the horse’s reins, and it dipped its head obligingly. He swung up into the saddle, turned the horse towards the palace. The horse tossed its head violently and shimmered beneath him. For a moment, Loki worried the horse would vanish, but it solidified and stamped its hoof once again.

 Remembering the words Keshaara had once said to her horse, Loki dropped the reins and bent close to the horse’s ear. Keshaara had told him that Shadowmere was more than a horse, but he couldn’t remember when she had done so. Sitting atop the great beast, he could believe that. Shadowmere did not feel like a horse, and certainly did not act like one.

“Show me the wind, Shadowmere. I need you to help me.”

The beast reared once, stamped its great hooves down, and galloped towards the palace. The world around him descended into a blur, and he held on for his dear’s life. He needed to hurry.

 

* * *

 

He rushed back into Frigga’s rooms, sweat slicking the back of his neck, his hair in utter disarray. Loki was out of breath, panting for air, and frantic. The room was uncharacteristically dark, and while he had had no problems with the guards coming in to the palace, it was nothing more than a matter of moments before what he had done was discovered. He had to tell her what had happened so that maybe Frigga could do something to save Keshaara.

There was the heavy taste of scry-magic in the air, and he turned to look first at his mother, and then to the huge wellspring of magic that was hovering in the air. Frigga looked at him in shock, and quickly moved to intercept him, putting herself in between him and the magical projection of…Jotunheim?

 “Mother, they –”

 “Loki, I know. But my son, you should not look right now, I do not think…”

 “Is that Keshaara? Mother, what is happening?”

 He struggled out of her grasp, and looked to the huge projection. It was Jotunheim, inside the decimated ice palace. There was –

 “Kesh!”

 He reached for the image, and his mother was there to take his hand. She was curled into a small ball, a chain clearly leading down to her neck. There were smears of blood all around her. Not enough to be worrying, but it was her blood and he never needed to see that. She was his Champion, and she should bleed nowhere but except on the battlefield.

 “Son, please, come away. It’s Kesh’s talisman, it lets us see where she is, but Loki, you won’t want to-”

 He moved around her, looking up at the projection again. Keshaara was very still, wrapped in thin furs, her breath frosting the air.

 “Loki, _listen_ , they took her to Jotunheim. She called for assistance, but Heimdall could not open the gate close enough to her for her to get free. She called for help, and none came. They took her, but she fought back. Her voice shook the heavens.”

 “Who did she call?”

 “Heimdall, and two names I did not know…and for you.”

 Loki did not react outwardly.It felt like something vital wilted and died at those words, though. Keshaara had called for him before and he had been unable to help. This time he had not even heard her. She had called for his help, just like she had called for Heimdall, and he had done nothing.

 Keshaara turned her head towards the door to the cell, hearing something that was not transmitted to them. Loki’s heart stopped. Gold thread glittered on her face, and when she moved her left shoulder, he could see blood glimmering like gems down her arm. Her eyes were bloodshot, and puffy. She was hurt. His stomach clenched, and he felt like vomiting.

 “They sewed her mouth shut.”

 “Yes. She has no magic, and no voice. Loki-”

 He could only watch as her eyes tracked the movement of someone they could not see. To his horror, the Tesseract was thrown in next to her, left next to the de-fanged mage, a mocking reminder that she had power there and no way to use it. Keshaara’s eyes fixated on the blue box, and for a moment, her eyes flashed the same color. She blinked, and then her irises were back to orange and she turned away from the box.

 There was a ferocious flurry of action as she threw the blankets off of her, and rose just enough to kick the Tesseract across the icy floor, back towards the door. The movement exposed her entire arm, and Frigga gasped. Loki tasted blood in his mouth again as he bit the inside of his cheek all over. Keshaara’s left arm was an intricate mess of patterned cuts, following runic words and circles across the expanse of her muscle. The Tesseract danced out of view, and Keshaara attempted to sneer at it, the golden thread slicing her skin as she moved. The pain brought her back to herself, and she calmed, collapsing back down into her corner.

 Blood leaked from the piercings where thread erupted from her skin, down her chin and throat. The stitching was jagged, uneven, and overdone. Loki could feel the residual scars on his own face twinge in response. He had endured a similar punishment once, when Odin had wanted to impress upon him that he had done wrong, and knew that she would be in agony. Odin had relented after only a day, but that day had been misery. Loki waited for the moment when she would rise up and destroy everything. He waited for the fire in her eyes to catch the entire world ablaze.

 That moment did not come.

 She closed her eyes, turned her head to the wall, and curled tighter again. She hiked the few blankets and furs she had been given higher up over herself, and went still. Moving did not seem like a good idea. Blood dripped from her wounds. He knew he could not touch the projection, but he wanted to. She wasn’t fighting. Keshaara always fought. She…even in the cave with the vampires, she had fought.

  _But not before they made her scream._

 Maybe this time she would never scream. They had stitched her mouth shut and carved her arm with rune-symbols he was unfamiliar with.

 “Loki, how did you call Keshaara to you the first time? Could it…work again?”

 Dómhildr spoke this time, stepping up beside Frigga, looking between the Queen and the Prince. Loki decided to forgive the servant girl her insolence in not using his full title, because she did have a point. Keshaara’s dragonname would still be the same. He could call her.

 “I could, but I don’t know how it works. She’d have to be unchained for me to feel confident in doing so. I don’t want to decapitate her because the chain is stuck in one place and she is going to another.”

 Dómhildr and Frigga both nodded sagely. It was a good decision, for now. Loki swallowed his concern. Now, all they could do was watch. Watch and pray to whatever would be benevolent that Keshaara would come to no harm. Loki worried the inside of his cheek, already cut up from his previous attempts and holding silence within him. Frigga reached for his hand, and held it in her own, for both her sake and his.

  _Come on Keshaara. Escape._

 “ _Vahriizaamlostahkrin_ _,”_ he whispered.

Her head popped up, whipped around, and stared, directly at the talisman, and by proxy, at the gathered trio. Loki watched, equal parts horrified and pleased as the blood around her wounds glowed blue (magicka was blue, magic was blue where she was from), and her eyes blazed orange.

“Krojunsekrah,” she mouthed back, fresh blood coating her lips. He could not hear what she said, and her lips could barely move, but he knew that was what she said.

She had heard him.


	33. Hrjóta

The Tale of the Dragonborn

* * *

 

 _“_ _Vahriizaamlostahkrin_ _,”_ came the words on the wind.

 Keshaara turned to her talisman, taken from around her neck, but not from her room entirely. Could they have managed?

 Of course they did. Frigga knew more of magic than she let on, and Loki wasn’t stupid.

 “Krojunsekrah,” she whispered back to the talisman, every movement of her lips causing the thread to shred through the tender skin of her lips. These scars would be another thing to hide beneath the shield of magic as soon as she got it out.

 Pain flickered around her shoulder, and she felt the Tesseract reach for her again. The Tesseract, it was the Tesseract, and she could feel it calling to her even without the use of any of her magic. It was something so much more than the Eye of Magnus could have ever hoped to be, but they were kindred creations.

 Ancano had succumbed to the Eye of Magnus and it had taken a budding Archmage like her to destroy him. If she succumbed to the Tesseract…what would happen? She had had to kill Ancano to stop him, so would that mean Loki would have to kill her? He was the only one strong enough to manage it, but the Tesseract had its claws deep into him as well. The Tesseract was the sickness that plagued him, the Tesseract was what urged him towards horrible things. He had done wrong, she knew that, but that did not keep the blame from being on the Tesseract as well.

 Her magic was bound, though. That could be a difference.

_i will give you the magic back if you take me and claim me even with your magic bound you will be a mage unmatched if you take me claim me you will be safe i **promise**_

Keshaara shook her head. Every time the Tesseract reached for her, urging her to take it, she could watch as the runes that were carved into her pale skin began to glow with magicka. The Tesseract was a wellspring of magicka unlike anything she had ever seen. It was power, but it was more importantly mage-power. Given to a mage of appropriate skill, the Tesseract could undo the entire world. Or remake it. Or both.

 It was not often that Keshaara was scared of inanimate things. It was not often that she described something that spoke to her as inanimate, either. But the Tesseract did not live as other things lived. It was power, and a reflection of those that had used its power before. Sometimes she swore it spoke with Loki’s voice, but she could never quite be sure.

 The Jotuns wanted her to take it, and be consumed by it. She was their Queen, by the markings in her flesh, and they desired their realm to be made whole once again. From what she had seen, female Jotuns were rare enough that she had not seen any others, so her presence as both female and Queen-marked made her…desirable to say the least.

 They called her Loki’s Queen though, and gestured to a mark on her left shoulder that she could not see, no matter how she turned her head. She would have objected to that, had her mouth not been sewn shut with gold thread. Somehow, the thread had been ensorcelled to lock all her magicka away. It was not like with the cuffs she had worn before that simply kept her magic under her skin, this damned stitching in her lips kept her from any new spellwork. Her old spells stayed in place, or at least they would until the magicka in the spells ran out, which left her with precious little time to escape before escape became impossible.

 She had to move.

When she peeled the given furs from her skin, she noticed that her arm was still glowing a dull blue beneath the blood. Keshaara rubbed a hand down her arm, smearing blood everywhere in the hopes that that would dim the glowing, but it didn’t.

  _touch me take me i am yours dragon come dragon take me touch me reach for me escape with me_

She shook her head, trying to scatter the Tesseract’s words from her mind. Keshaara stood, still clutching the thin blankets around her. Jotunheim was dastardly cold, and she knew that she would need to cover herself if she ventured outside of this room. Venturing was, after all, the plan behind the escape.

 The gold thread kept her from accessing the Jotun form Loki’s blood had given her, so the cold was damn near unbearable. It crept into her old bones and throttled the breath out of her if she gave it a chance. But the blankets, thin as they were, did stave some of it off, and the furs were thin, but still warmer than nothing. She had no weapons, which was unsurprising, as she had brought none when she went stargazing with Loki, but she would need something to defend herself with against the giants.

 They were giant, for one, and she had seen them summon weapons out of ice and nothingness. She was small and frail by comparison, and without her magic, without armor and without a weapon, the chances were incredibly slim that she would manage to do anything of note in her escape.

 Keshaara was privately happy that her sneaking skill was not at all dependent on her magic at all. If she was clever enough, if she was slow enough and took her time, she could manage to escape the palace without ever being detected. That was her plan, at least. Just get outside and find somewhere to hide in the snow and hope Heimdall would be able to take her hom-back to Asgard. Asgard wasn’t home.

 It was willful ignorance of what she had sensed earlier. She knew it was. But right then, she had to ignore it. There were more important things to focus on.

 Like getting the collar off.

_Step one, then. Collar removal._

The studs that held the chain to the wall were too strong for her to pry off, and she didn’t fancy having a long, grabbable chain left around while she was trying to escape. She had to get the collar off then. She let her left arm rest, not wanting to irritate the wounds that were already present on her arm, so she pressed on the collar with the fingers of her right hand. The lock was similar to the one she had picked earlier - she just needed a piece of wire or something to make it work.

 She wanted to lick her lips. The drying blood was making them feel chapped and sticky, but, well, that was impossible. So she settled for melting some ice on her fingertips and rubbing the ice-water slicked fingers over her lips. It was a poor facsimile for what she wanted to do, and did not really accomplish what her tongue could have, but it alleviated enough of the urge for her to think again.

  She needed to make a lockpick out of something. She was smaller than Jotuns usually were, and the collar was already loose around her neck. Not so much that she could squeeze her head through it, but loose enough for her to have some advantageous wiggling room.

 She took stock of the room she was in, looking for anything that could be immediately used as a pick, and found nothing. Rather stupidly, she had thrown away the metal piece she had used to pick her cuffs that first time, and now she had nothing but what she could manage to wrangle up. The cell was sparse. She figured this would not be the permanent residence for someone like her, not if she was truly Queen. But she did not have time to waste.

 Her left arm ached, but it was a bone-deep ache borne of an old illness, not the ache of wounds shallow enough to try and heal already. Her right knee had the beginnings of the sharp, shooting pains she had become accustomed to associating with being without her magic.

 Keshaara took a deep breath in through her nose, thought for a moment, and began to move. She kept the blankets wrapped around her, and moved slowly along the floor, extending a leg out as far as she could, and then sloooowly switching her weight onto that foot and sliding across the floor. As she already knew, the chain wasn’t quite long enough for her to reach the door. Even when she allowed for the extra few inches of give in her collar and strained hard enough to nearly choke herself into unconsciousness, she couldn’t get closer to the door.

 That strain was going to leave a bruise.

 She turned back to the wall that held her chain in check. If she could pull it out of the wall, and get to the door, maybe that would be enough to make a better go of things.

 New plan made, now for the execution.

 Keshaara turned her back to the door, planted her feet as firmly as she could, grabbed onto the chain with both hands and _pulled_. The holding did not give way quickly, but Keshaara did not let up, pulling and twisting at the chain until she felt it start to give way. Snarling as best she could with her lips stitched shut, she pulled and twisted and pulled and twisted until with a _CRACK_ the ice around the fastening gave way.

 Keshaara stumbled backwards, and fell on her butt, the loosened chain falling to the ground loudly.

 She winced, knowing the sound would draw the attention of a guard-Jotun. Quickly, she got to her feet and gathered up the furs and blankets she had been given, wrapping them around herself and doing her best to secure them with the thinner pieces of the old, busted up blankets.

 Carefully, quietly, she drew close to the door, approaching from the blind spot she knew existed based on the design of the cell. As she passed by the low bench that her talisman had been thrown on, she reached for it, her hand closing over the still-warm metal. With the collar on, she could not hope to put the talisman over her head, so she wrapped it around her fist, coiling the metal chain tight enough to be sure it would not fall out of her grasp.

 Footsteps approached the cell, and Keshaara crouched low, holding her breath in her teeth and waited. The Jotun paused at the cell door, peering through the bars to the lone corner where Keshaara had been just a few minutes ago. There was, obviously, no one there, and she had no magic to make it appear as if there was anyone, anyway. The guard clearly could see where she had ripped out the chain from the wall, but for whatever reason, it was still slow to call the alarm.

  _Perfect_.

 Keshaara lunged, reaching up for the Jotuns neck through the bars of her cell, grabbing a hold of him and slamming his face into the cold iron grates again and again and again, until his body went limp and his blood painted the metal.

  _Not the most subtle way to escape_.

 She held the Jotun up with one hand and reached for the keyring on his belt with the other. There were two keys, and she hoped that the keys would be to the door and then to the collar in turn. She let the dead (or at least severely concussed Jotun) fall to the ground, pulling the keyring into the cell with her.

 Luck was with her. The first key unlocked her collar, and she gladly threw it across the cell, back into the corner. The talisman on its chain was swung over her head, to fall back into its proper position, hanging around her neck. The second key unlocked the cell, and with a heavy _click_ , she was free. Keshaara was halfway out of the door, victory singing in her blood, when she remembered the Tesseract. It was still lying on the floor of the cell, pulsing blue.

  _take me?_

 She hesitated. It was a relic of power, she could tell that, and she did not want that power to fall into the wrong hands. So she would have to take it, for the safety of everyone involved. The thought of touching the Tesseract with her bare hand made her stomach roil, however. She knew something was wrong with it, and that letting it touch her was the epitome of a Bad Idea. So she covered her hand with a piece of the fur she had wrapped around herself, picked up the Tesseract –

  _take me dragon take me take me take me take me take me_

 - shook her head, and tied the fur up into a makeshift pouch, keeping it secured tight to her belt, and safe from being jostled out of place.

 With a deep, steadying breath, Keshaara walked out of the cell. As soon as she was out of the cell proper, she dropped down to her knees in a deep, low crouch. Her sneaking skill kept her safe and unseen. She remembered the way out. She may have been fighting, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t memorizing the way out. She had been taken prisoner before.

 So, she carefully retraced the steps the Jotuns had taken when bringing her into the cell. She heard the alarm being raised when she was about halfway to the final destination of ‘out of here’. Keshaara knew better than to wince or rise out of her crouch, especially since she was right next to a huge group of Jotuns. Her sneaking skill was her saving grace as one passed mere inches in front of her on its way to go find her.

 Keshaara held her breath for as long as she could, alternating between breathing shallowly and not at all in order to decrease the sounds she made.

  _take me and we can kill them all take me claim me and we will raze this place to the ground_

 She could not...(she **could** )…she would not. No, the Tesseract was not something she should ever touch. It was a bad thing. It was not a source of power that she could ever hope to touch, not if she wanted to remain the same in the aftermath. Keshaara knew in the most intimate of ways that handling the Tesseract left one forever changed. If she used its power, she would never be the same Keshaara again.

 A cold wind rushed through the hallway she was in, and Keshaara knew it to mean that she was close to the exit. There were no Jotuns that she could see, but Keshaara was not willing to risk it. She would remain low and crouched until she was certain that she was out under the sky and free of being in their grasp. This was vital to her survival. She would not be a prisoner any longer.

 It was only when she was out under the sky, the snow swirling around her that she realized she had no way to call for help. She was outside, yes, but there was nothing she could do to get Heimdall to realize she needed the gate open.

 Still, she had to move. The cold was insidious, creeping through her body, up through her feet and ankles. Keshaara resisted the urge to shiver, and walked with purpose. She needed to get away from the broken palace of ice and any curious Jotuns. The wind wiped all existence of her footsteps out of the snow, leaving her directionless. She knew where she had been only in the loosest of terms, and she did not know where she needed to go.

 Cold crept higher through her, reaching for her core, numbing her fingertips and not helping the ache in her left arm at all.

 Keshaara tripped over a jutting rock, hidden in the snow, and fell to her knees. The snow soaked through her clothing quickly, and no matter how fast she stood, the chill seeped further into her. She managed a few more steps before tripping again. She was slower to get up this time. The cold was like daggers slowly digging deeper into her flesh, and she wanted to scream.

 But her mouth was sewn shut and she had no magic.

 “ _Yol_?”

 Fire, blessed heat and fire washed over her. Not enough to burn, not enough to even truly be of concern to her, but a greeting.

 A great scarlet head popped up from the snow, shaking the flakes from his horned head. Horns that had grown massive in the centuries since she had seen him last, right above great gem-green eyes, horns that she had known as she rode him across Skyrim years and tears ago.

 “Odahviing,” she whispered through a mutilated mouth, trying to smile.

 “Dovahkiin, you are grievously harmed, but not followed,” his deep voice said, in as close to a whisper as dragons could manage.

 She nodded happily, reaching a hand out to the great dragon, who then butted his snout against her hand. Warmth rolled off the dragon and she had to be careful to not collapse back into the snow. Heat, blessed be the Divines, there was heat. 

 “Dovahkiin, you called the cursed one as well. He went to the other place, for we could not distinguish where you were. The call was muffled. We could not tell if it was you for truth, for it has been centuries since your thu’um had been heard.”

 Keshaara nodded again.

 “Time…is…different,” she managed to hiss.

 Odahviing gathered her close to him, gently urging her near his neck, a sign of great trust amongst dragons, to present such a vulnerable part of the body to a being particularly well-known for killing dragons. The heat that radiated off him warmed her immediately, and she shivered again, this time in happiness.

 “I see, Dovahkiin. I can take you to Durnehviir. You may sit astride my back as you did once before, and I will take you to the other place. I hope it is less cold there.”

 Keshaara nodded, and waited for the dragon to lower himself so she could climb up on his back. Instead, the sky above her glittered with the light of a thousand thousand rainbows and she was hooked behind her navel once again, thrown through space, and once again, found herself in the small room where she had first come in to Asgard.

 She spun too fast, looking for Odahviing behind her, but the dragon was nowhere to be seen. Heimdall caught her as her legs went out from underneath her.

 “Welcome back to Asgard Championess,” he said, helping her gently to her feet. “I saw you escape. The dragon did not come when you did. They seem resistant to the bifrost.”

 Keshaara nodded.

“Odahviing. He comes,” she mumbled through the stitching.

Heimdall did nothing so crass as to run a hand across her stitches, but he frowned at the mess of thread.

“We need to get you to the healers. That thread can cause lasting damage.”

 She nodded again, and took Heimdall’s arm when he offered it. There was the great screech of a dragon and she waved Heimdall’s worry away.

 “Is Odah. Durnehviir here too.”

 She recognized their calls, the deep screams of dovah.

 “Dovahkiin!”

 “Dovahkiin!”

 “ _Kesh_!”

 The last voice had her walking towards the exit of the oddly spherical room. She made an affirmative noise, lifting a hand in greeting. Loki was rushing down the bridge, careful not to run, but clearly agitated. Around his neck hung the half of the talisman she had given him, still glittering with magic to her senses. Magic she could not feel. But she could see it still.

 She was careful to not assume an embrace was coming, because she was Loki’s ~~Whore~~ Champion, but as soon as he was close enough to her, he grabbed her by both arms and pulled her against him in a crushing hug. He did not release her for a long while, holding her tight to him and muttering words into her neck that she could not hear.

 When he finally drew away, he brushed trembling fingers across her lips.

 “I’m so sorry. The…Frigga has alerted the healers, they will see to severing the thread as appropriate, and to your other wounds. Come, this way. The dragons will be unharmed. Durneviir was speaking with me earlier an-”

 “Vahriizaamlostahkrin!! Aam Kreh _Fen_!”

 Keshaara winced, falling to a knee, clutching at her chest with her right hand. Loki whipped his head around for the unknown voice, but Keshaara was waving him away from her, back towards Heimdall, away from the oncoming dragon. He did not move immediately, and Kesh hissed at him, signing a flurry of words at him to make him retreat from her, away from the danger.

 The skies split open and a grey-gold dragon burst through. Far larger than the red Odahviing, and the skeletalized Durnehviir, the last dragon set down on the rainbow bridge, making it shudder beneath him. He advanced on Keshaara, who knew better than to rise from her position. He would just force her back down again.

 “Vahriizaamlostahkrin. Return to Skyrim.”

 Keshaara looked up, gesturing helplessly at her mouth. She could not state her case when she could not speak. Paarthurnax looked down on her, the closest approximation to a draconic sneer on his face. In the distance, hovering in the air over his shoulder were Durnehviir and Odahviing, each watching the elder dragon carefully. Something dangerous hung in the air, and Keshaara knew that Paarthurnax had not come with the blessings of the others.

 “Vahriizaamlostahkrin. You will return to Skyrim. Alduin stirs. Your job is not done.”

 Still unable to speak, Keshaara could only shake her head. She was not going to leave Asgard for Skyrim. She was not going to leave, not at Paarthurnax’s behest, nor at the command of any other creature. She was not going to leave.

 Paarthurnax bellowed at her, drawing close enough to lash out at her with one long foreclaw, opening a bleeding gash from her right ear, across the right corner of her mouth, and down to her chin. Keshaara cried out, forgetting about the stitching in her mouth in her moment of pain. The thread had been severed and even the half-opening of her mouth loosened the stitches near the right corner of her lips. It wasn’t enough to speak loudly, but she could manage. From behind her, she heard Loki curse, from the dragons, she heard a low rumble, and from the gathering people on the shoreline, far removed from this precarious bridge she was on, there was a hushed gasp.

 No great rush of magic greeted her. There was not enough removed for her to feel her magic’s pulse again. No, she was still maimed without access to her mage-work, which left her with no defense against Paarthurnax.

 “Paarthurnax, I cannot. I have sworn oaths here that have yet to be fulfilled. Alduin’s return is not my business," she whispered, her voice still small and tremulous.

 “You were made to battle Alduin, to remove him from Mundus. You have not fulfilled your obligation to Skyrim, _Vaatkren_.”

 Keshaara surged to her feet, fury fueling her defiance. He _dared_ call her oathbreaker?

 “Aam Kreh Fen, Vaatkren.”

 She was forced to kneel again, bowing her head as the command dictated. She rankled beneath his words, fury and duty warring beneath her skin.

 “Alduin was not to be killed. He was to be reminded of his duty, Paarthurnax. Mundus and Nirn will still be destroyed by the World Eater. It is the nature of the cycle, I cannot end it. That is not my destiny.”

 “Stupid _Vaatkren_ , you dare tell me what your destiny is? I am Paarthunax, Thuri Dovah, and I will not have some _Jul_ tell me what she knows. You are a nuisance, an oathbreaker, and nothing more. The Way of the Voice **will not fall** because of you.”

 Keshaara knew better than to rise again.

 “I have sworn oaths here. I fulfilled my oaths in Skyrim, and I will not be oathbreaker in truth in order to fulfill a mad dragon’s wish.”

 Paarthurnax roared at her, and she did not move. Blood dripped from her face, down her arm, from her lips, but she met Paarthurnax’s gaze with an even, challenging stare.

 “What oath could you have sworn that would allow you to refuse?”

 “I swore my freedom for another’s, and am here to fulfill that oath. The man I serve is a prisoner, and I am his Champion until such a time that he is truly free. That is why I live on, though the years are nearing endless for me.”

 “You _LIVE_ because you did not kill Alduin. You will return to Skyrim.”

 “I will not.”

 She was defiant, and met Paarthurnax’s gaze. She was not going to bend her will to this dragon. He would not remove her.

 “I could return to Skyrim and call you back. You would have no choice but to come.”

 “The one I serve calls my name truer than you ever have. He does not need to use the tongue of dov to have my service, nor does he need to bully me into doing his will. I serve willingly as his Champion.”

 “You are a _slave_ and nothing more. You will serve me and Skyrim and destroy my brother, as you were meant to do,” Paarthurnax hissed, bringing his head level with Keshaara’s.

 “I will do no. Such. Thing.”

 “You will, or you will die.”

 Keshaara sneered.

 “I will not die. I will not go. I will stay and serve the oath I gave centuries ago, until such a time that he is free.”

“And who is he, that you serve at the expense of your countrymen and destiny?”

“He is the Prince Loki, a sorcerer-king unmatched in this realm. I promised my blade to him, and I will not be separated from him. Alduin was torn from his mortal body, as I was meant to do. But I was never meant to destroy your brother. He was merely to be reminded that his purpose is to destroy the world, not to revel in its destruction. Your fear makes your wings brittle and your voice bashful, Paarthurnax. Leave Asgard and never call for me again.”

Keshaara stood, defying the command Paarthurnax had put upon her once again. She was slave, yes, but she served only those she was sworn to serve, and though her service to Skyrim ended long ago, the service to a promise she made to the Daedra was what kept her bound, instead of granting her, and every soul within her, a permanent release. She served Loki, her name sounded best on his lips, and it was he who commanded her truly. She was his slave, and no one else's. She would not be cowed by this old dov who believed himself to be the new alpha and omega, only to realize his older sibling was still alive.

 “Prince… _Loki_ ,” Paarthurnax growled, looking over her shoulder, to where Loki stood tall and defiant in front of Heimdall. There was no denying that Loki was exactly the person who stood in challenge.

 “Yes. My Prince Loki. I serve him, my oath is given to him and I will not leave Asgard and foreswear the oath I made to him.”

 He reached a hand out for Keshaara, intending to step forward and stand beside her. Heimdall shouted a warning as Loki walked towards Keshaara. Kesh, for her own sake, turned to him, smiling broadly, but not extending a hand to him, even as he reached for her.

 Paarthurnax’s tail, previously curled around the bridge, rapidly uncoiled and lashed out, in sync with the dragon's next challenging roar.

 Keshaara could only watch as the great spaded tail rose up and collided heavily with Loki, knocking him clean off the bridge, into the deep, dark oblivion beneath them. Durnehviir and Odahviing shared her scream of fury, and Loki’s scream of fear. The airborne dragons dove at Paarthurnax, who rose to meet them in aerial combat. Their words shook the world, and the observers scattered as three dragons rose to do battle. Fire, ice, blood and bone all roared through the sky. Dovah did not fight each other lightly, and to bring three to combat was a sure sign of...something.

 Keshaara pulled at the thread still holding her lips together, hoping against hope that she would be able to pull them out fast enough to throw magic down to Loki, but it did not matter if it did not work. She was already moving to the edge of the bridge, already rushing, already preparing herself to stare back into the void that had scared her so when she first landed in these Realms, already ready to –

  _Jump dragon fly dragon he will die dragon  
_

Ice exploded in her veins not ten feet down from the bridge. She had leapt without taking stock of what was below her, knowing that fear would cut her deeper than Paarthurnax's claws.

 All she could see was Loki, staring up at her, eyes wide with disbelief. He could not understand why she was there. She barely understood why she was there, but she stretched her hand for him. They would fall together.

 Twenty feet down and she felt like she couldn’t breathe.

 All she saw was Loki, reaching up for her, and her hand reaching back.

  _you will not save him. dragon you must fly._

 Thirty, forty, fifty feet, and every last inch after that that she fell sent further pain through her. The Tesseract called her dragon. Her mind fogged, her vision blurred, nothing made sense. She had to save Loki, Loki was falling faster than she could catch, they were both going to die.

  _dragon you must fly._

Her world started to go grey, then black around the edges, and her vision pinpointed on Loki. She had to save Loki.

  _dragon_

 She reached for the makeshift fur pouch, the fingers of her left hand closing around the Tesseract. Her mind raced, searching for the words she needed. She was Dovahkiin, Thuri Dovahkiin. She was Dovahkiin. Dovah. Dov.

  _fly_.

 “ **MUL VIING DOVAH.** ”

 The kaleidoscope of infinity warped, she reached for, and grabbed Loki, and far far beneath the bridge, in the realm of impossibilities, a fourth dragon’s roar sounded.


	34. Seiðr

The Tale of the Jotun Prince

~~The Tale of the Dragonborn~~

* * *

 

 

The dragon Paarthurnax had knocked him into the abyss. The wind was already knocked out of his lungs so the terror that constricted his chest had nothing else to wring out of him. He was falling again.

 He was falling and falling and falling and infinity was yawning beneath him again. Last time he had expected his brother to fall with him, to use Mjolnir to come down, save him, and take him back to safety. But Thor had not. Thor, thick-headed Thor, had not spent the few seconds thinking that was needed to realize that he could save him.

 There was no Thor this time, no great flying hammer that could be used. There was only dragons who wanted him dead, and –

  _Keshaara_.

 She had leapt after him, turning her back to the danger of the dragon and falling with him, after him. She seemed so far away, he felt like he was falling faster than he should be capable of doing, and still, Keshaara, with no magic and her mouth stitched shut, had jumped after him. For him.

 If he was going to fall, he would fall with her. He reached up towards her. If they fell back to the others, or into dark infinity, he wanted to fall with his hand holding hers. He would not be abandoned this time. Keshaara _was_ right there.

 Just like before, the further from the bridge he fell, the harder it became to remain coherent of himself. He was no longer anything. He was nothing. He was nothing, there was nothing, he was nothing, there was nothing. He could only look up and there was Keshaara. The stars faded away as darkness overwhelmed him. Fear throttled him, and he could not find the breath to call her name. That was what you were meant to do, call _her_ name. That was what the…what was always done…in the songs. They would die with the other’s name on their lips.

 A new star birthed itself in the expanse between them, glowing bright, pulsing blue.

 Had this been mere weeks, months before in his long life, Loki would have been fixated on that blue star, and the whispers of power that came from it. But this time? Now? All he saw were the twin suns in Keshaara’s eyes as they, too, slowly turned blue. Darkness closed over his eyes, life bled away, coldness clawed at his throat –

 Something massive wrapped around his chest. Bile rose in his throat. Thanos…the Others, they would take him down. Keshaara would be forever adrift until she died, but he would be taken again, down down down into madness and insanity all over again until they tore him to pieces and shredded his mind and unmade him again. Loki struggled to breathe, just enough, just enough to hiss her name, he just wanted his last coherent word to be her name.

 He was pulled up.

 Up?

 He was definitely rising. The darkness fell away like night before the rising sun. The bifrost shone out of the darkness, sound and breath returned and over the top of it all, as soon as he could hear again, the screaming of dragons. The closest dragon was directly over his head, wings spread wide and a challenging roar shaking the bifrost as they flew by.

 Coherence was slow to return, and he could see that it was the dragon who had him safely cradled in their hindclaws, with great wingbeats pulling them higher into the sky. At first, it seemed as if they were hardly moving, with the subtle movement of the cosmos marking their movement, but as the wings kept pulling up, the apparent slowness accelerated into blistering speed. They were moving outrageously quickly, each pull of the dragon’s wings only pushing them faster.

 Loki could see the other three dragons dueling in the sky, great jets of fire, lightning, and ice rending the air. The voices of dragons shook the air.

 Three dragons there.

 One dragon holding him.

 Had another dragon come? Where was Keshaara?

 Loki’s mind had slowly started to wake up from the terror, and he looked, searching for her. The dragon held no one other than him. Keshaara was nowhere. His throat was too raw to call up to the huge dragon, but he had a feeling the great beast would not have heard him anyway. It was making a constant, low, humming sound as it flew, but even if it was meant to be quiet by dragon-standards, it was deafening to the man in its claws.

 Loki took stock of the dragon. It was not Odahviing, or Durneviir, and definitely not Paarthurnax, who were all embroiled in the fight. It was a new dragon, a different one. A dragon with scales a kaleidoscope of color like polished fire agate. Scales as dark as the void he was snatched out of, each shining with an inner golden flame that danced in the light, and each chased in the barest hint of emerald around the edge. He felt an overwhelming, acute longing to possess just one of those scales all at once, and reached up to press his hands to the great beast’s underbelly. The dragon was hot… _Hels_ was it hot. Like holding a hand too close to the furnace, like letting candle-flames lick at your fingertips, the dragon’s skin was hot enough to burn, but Loki had no fear of pain.

 Not from this dragon.

 The dragon’s flight took them over the city of Asgard, out back towards the mountains and open wilderness again, where the waters that fell over the edge of Asgard met green, green earth. There would be, at least, a place for the dragons to battle without fear of undue injury to others.

 Odahviing, Durnehviir and Paarthurnax flew high above them, wheeling destruction and death in ever-tightening spirals. A few dragon scales littered the ground already, from where claws had met flesh.

 The dragon who carried him dipped their flight lower, its tail skimming the water behind him. As gently as such a large thing could manage, it uncurled its claws from around him and unceremoniously dropped him on the shore, flying over his head to land a ways away, landing heavily and stumbling over its own limbs. Loki had to pick himself up from the ground, brushing sand from his face and clothing.

 The dragon screamed a few times, its voice still muted in comparison to the others. Its great tail lashed, hitting the ground hard enough to dig out gouges from the wet earth. When it spread its wings wide, its back to Loki, Loki could see that the some of the finger-like bones of its wings were broken, or missing. Its wings were not the glorious expanses the other dragons had. There were scars across its body, and as it walked, he could see that its right hind leg barely worked properly. That did not stop the dragon from rising up as best it could on its hind legs and bugling a roar at the aerial dragons above it.

 It thrashed its tail again, and Loki had to drop to his stomach to avoid the tail hitting him again. He cursed vociferously, pushing himself back up to his feet. The dragon turned its head towards him, and he froze.

 A huge, ugly scar traced down the left side of her face, leaving one eye milky, but the other blazed like fire, whirling with inner colors that he found he could not name. The dragon turned to face him fully, staring him down with her one good eye. Blood dripped from a huge claw-gouge across her left cheek. A low rumble started in her chest, and Loki dropped his gaze down to its great maw. Thick gold rope stitched its mouth shut, explaining why it would not make the same volume of sound as the others.

 “Kesh?” he said hesitantly, as the dragon’s head drew closer.

 “Keshaara.”

 The dragon regarded him coolly, blinking its eyes first with the secondary membrane, and then the primary. It did not move, staying very still just in front of him. He extended a hand out to the dragon, and touched it gently on the snout. She huffed at him.

 “Krojunsekrah. Govey fin yuvon.”

 It took Loki a few moments, but Keshaara had spoken his name, and so painstakingly slowly, that it was hard to misunderstand. A knife appeared in his hand, and slowly, he reached for the golden rope and sawed through the thick material. As thread, it was weak and parted easily, but the rope was a slight bit more difficult to handle, but it was done quickly. She opened her mouth wide, and he did his best not to flinch away from the many rows of needle-sharp teeth.

 “Geh. Pruuzah.”

 He blinked.

 The dragon – Keshaara, it appeared, turned away from him again, and roared truly this time. The earth shook, and the other dragons wheeled out of the sky, their fighting forgotten for a moment. Keshaara roared again, rattling her long dorsal spines against each other. Fire licked at the corner of her mouth, and as soon as the trio was within range:

 “ **YOL**.”

 Before, when Keshaara had used the words of power, shouted them to skies, he had felt power and seen a conflagration that was breathtaking.

 Now?

 The entire world brightened to the point of pain as white-hot flames burst from her mouth, setting the very air aflame, and engulfing Paarthurnax in her fury. As a dragon, he was not overly bothered by the fire, but it was enough to get his attention. He hovered, not quite willing to land, as Odahviing and Durnehviir had, but that did not bother Keshaara. She roared again, her wings spread wide. A challenge. She would not be defeated by this old dov. He had outlived his purpose, his destiny should have ended, and now he threatened her own livelihood by trying to kill Loki to get her to return to Skyrim. There was no time to explain how Alduin was the World Eater, no matter how much those in Tamriel would fight it, Alduin would end them. She killed him, yes, she had killed him, but it was as a reminder that he could not destroy the world for his own desires. He could not subjugate the world. Alduin was to destroy, and nothing else. He was not to find joy in the destruction, just as she had never found joy in her fate either. She had reminded him of his path, and he had to repent.

 If he would not learn through her words, then she would kill him to prove her point.

 “Joor zah fruul,” she hissed at him, and Paarthurnax dropped to the ground. She had never used that forbidden thu’um on him before. He had only had cerebral knowledge of it. That had changed.

 (Mortal, mortal, you are mortal, you will end, there is an end and I will bring it to you, you will die, death is eminent, I will kill you)

 The brunt of mortality weighed heavily on dragons. Keshaara knew that. She felt its weight now, too.

 She charged, and the two great dragons battled as any other beast would. Claws met scales, teeth and fang ripped and tore at leathery wings, and the watchers who flanked them did nothing to intervene. Odahviing and Durnehviir both watched attentively, as still as stone.

 Keshaara and Paarthurnax hissed, screamed and shouted at each other, each trying to drown out the other’s thu’um with volume alone. Keshaara’s voice won. Elemental power surged around them both, scorching the earth with fire, covering it with frost, searing it with lightning, back and forth and back and forth. Paarthurnax stumbled back from her, screaming as a spear of ice sunk deep into his hind leg thigh. His huge wings unfurled and he took off into the sky.

 Keshaara followed closely behind him, spreading her broken wings wide and somehow managing to fling her massive body into the sky. Loki could only crane his head up to watch the two of them wheel and twist through the air. The scene was astoundingly acrobatic, and even with Keshaara’s wings in horrid shape, she outstripped Paarthurnax in the sky as well. He could not get claw or fang into her, not as she arced and dropped and swooped around him.

 Loki tensed every time she dropped, her wings looking so frail compared to Paarthurnax’s own, sucking in air through his teeth and ducking his head to the side, as if his movements would help her. The dueling dragons had the attention of all of Asgard by now, for their screams and howls made the foundations of the world shake, and their wingbeats sent gusts of air that sent pennants and tapestries to fluttering.

 The two dragons spun higher and higher into the sky, twisting in ever-tightening spirals around each other. On the ground, Odahviing spread his wings and made a first great flap of his wings, but Durnehviir snapped something at him, and Odahviing sulkily folded his wings back up, ducking his head in apology. Loki could not disseminate draconic body language, but there was obviously something more going on.

 He looked back up into the sky, squinting to see if he could discern the shapes of the two battling dragons. For a few minutes, he could see nothing, but he could hear Odahviing becoming increasingly more vocally distressed as the moments stretched onwards. Dragon scales and dragonblood fell from the sky, littering the grasses with macabre reminders of the battle going on so far above them. From the distance he was standing at, Loki could not see if the scales were the gold-grey of the old Paarthurnax, or the black-agate of Keshaara’s.

 A dark streak plummeted from the sky.

 Loki’s breath caught in his throat. He could not see well enough to know if it was Keshaara falling or not. The dragon did nothing to arrest their fall, and shortly enough it became apparent that it was the darker of the two dragons – _Keshaara_ – that was falling, her body limp and unmoving. Paarthurnax gave greedy pursuit, plummeting down in a dive too steep to easily pull out of. It was not until the last possible moment, when Loki’s heart had stopped and his lungs screamed for air, that Keshaara’s wings snapped open and she twisted herself up out of her fall.

 Paarthurnax was moments too late in altering his course, and crashed heavily into the ground. Keshaara, ever so nimbly, turned sharply in the air and landed atop of the older, larger dragon.

 She screamed words of power down at Paarthurnax, who had nowhere to hide. Her hindclaws dug into and through his wings, and her winged foreclaws pummeled him. Fire, lightning, and ice all rained down upon the gold-grey dragon, along with vicious claw-swipes and crushing bites. Keshaara’s mouth was bloody, dripping scales, meat and blood as she carried on. Paarthurnax hissed up at her, no power in his voice any longer.

 Only when the other dragon’s tail stopped thrashing, when he stilled beneath her, did Keshaara release her claw-grasp out of his wings and back off of him.

 Her tail lashed back and forth as she paced just in front of the bloodied dragon, still screaming wordless fury at him. Paarthurnax did not lift his head from the ground, and his breath could only come in gasping wheezes.

 “BOLOG,” Keshaara screamed, rising up onto her hindlegs, despite her right leg trembling as she did so.

 Paarthurnax made no sound, but turned his head from her.

 “Bolog, Paarthurnax.”

 “Zu’u…dir ko hin ahmik, Keshaara.”

 Keshaara barked, and Loki could only take the huffing sounds as a laugh. She shook her head, opened her mouth wide, and Paarthurnax ended, his soul lifting out of his still-living body. He had been ended, as his brother had, but unlike Alduin, Paarthurnax had no further use to the world. His greed, even when he knew where such powerlust would lead, was unforgiveable. It was the end.

 Keshaara, as she had done with countless dovah before him, swallowed Paarthurnax into herself. His body, now devoid of any purpose, burst into flame, consuming flesh and bone until there was nothing but char and ash where he had once been. For good measure, Keshaara called the dragonfire to her mouth again, burning the ground where Paarthurnax had fallen until there was truly nothing left.

 She roared, spreading her wings wide – wide – wider, until they were as extended as she could manage. Her cries reached the skies and shook them. She was Keshaara, Dovah and this was her realm. She protected it. It belonged to her, but this time, it had no claim on _her_. She was **not** a slave to destiny. She shaped her own. It was hers.

 Keshaara screamed her new freedom from the shackles of Dovahkiin and Destiny to the planes of Oblivion, daring the skies to open and prove her wrong. Paarthurnax was dead. He was dead and gone, and Alduin had been put in his place. She. Was. Done.

 Durnehviir and Odahviing both lifted their voices with hers, all three calling Keshaara’s victory to the furthest plane of Oblivion. There was only one overlord, one Thuri Dovah, and it was the dragon who was black and gold of scale, with a voice clear and strong. Their song rose together, the three voices blending better than any of the court singers had ever managed to do. Loki did not know how to react. There were no words, nothing that he could follow along to. Their voices were primordial, speaking of feelings and sensations that had been lost for millennia. There was nothing to feel but pure awe.

 When the dragonsong faded, and silence finally returned, Loki released a breath he had not realized he was holding.

 “Loki,” Durnehviir said, turning his scarred head. “You must come here. Step forward kro, sorcerer. We have need of you.”

 Odahviing nodded his agreement, but Keshaara did not look as she had even heard the other dragon speak. Her gaze was still fixed firmly on where Paarthurnax’s bones lay charred into ash in front of her. Loki walked quickly, giving her a wide berth, as her tail was still lashing erratically back and forth.

 “The Loki-one knows the tongue well enough then, Durnehviir?” Odahviing asked, his voice coming closer as the dragon circled Keshaara opposite to the path Loki had chosen.

 “I have spoken with him about it. He should know enough. We can help if need be,” Durnehviir answered, his gaze fixed solely on Loki, still.

 The practically skeletalized dragon did not blink, staring at Loki with such intensity that he _almost_ felt like flinching away.

 “Loki, named by Keshaara. Your name was written not in Oblivion’s annals at the start of our wheel of time-keeping. She wrote it when she named you in the primordial tongue. The dov-tongue, which she then gave you. You used it to call her here, a task only those possessing the soul of a dovah were thought to be capable of. You summoned a hero to your side in the time of need, changing the words that would have been written had there not been this path instead. You have managed much, for being what you are.”

 Loki was not sure what to make of that, so he remained quiet.

 “Keshaara was named by a destiny that is not longer her burden. She is freed from being forced to serve a realm who never deserved a hero like her. Her name no longer fits her. She has outgrown it like she outgrew our own Oblivion. By taking the form that fits her soul, I fear that she has done too much. As dov, she is…she is not what she is meant to be. Her own destiny, the one that now lives in her, cannot come to fruition by her remaining in this form. A malcontenting power lent her that body, and if she lingers overlong, she may lose herself.

“After all this time, she has become more dov than Nord, and Paarthurnax was the second of all dragons. She now sits directly beneath Alduin the World-Eater and Keshaara has already bested him once. She could lose herself. If she does, I do not know if your Realm, or anything of Oblivion would be safe from her fury.”

“Then what do you want me to do?”

“Name her again. Set a line for her, remind her of who she truly is before the Keshaara you knew is gone. She is your Champion, and your shield-hand, and of those that still live, you know her best. Name her.”

 Odahviing made an odd growling sound at Durnehviir, his wings flaring slightly at the older dov’s words. Durnehviir did not even acknowledge the action, still focused solely on Keshaara.

 “You do not have much time, Loki. Name her.”

 Loki knew there was more at stake than a naming. When Keshaara had first uttered his name in the prison of the vampires, he had felt something in him shift. It had been a moment of clarity, of pain and acceptance of something that was so agonizingly _him_ that to think that there had been a moment where that had not been a name of his left him feeling odd. Even if the name was unhelpful in what it meant or what it could mean, it was **his** name. It was right.

 “What if the name is not…what it should be?” he asked.

 “Then she will suffer for it. Her _first_ name never fit her. It chafed at her soul, tearing everything she could have had from her and never once letting her forget that it was her name that began it all. Had destiny been kinder, chosen words gentler than what was used, perhaps she would have been happier.”

 Durnehviir was quiet for a moment, looking back to Keshaara, who had begun to snap at the air. On lesser animals, he would have found that as an expression of happiness and contentment, but given what Durnehviir was saying, it made him worried.

 “What if she stays a dragon?”

 “She cannot.”

 Durnehviir did not say anything more than that.

 “How will I know her name?”

 “You know her, do you not? You have been her friend and she Championed you. Surely you know something of her. You have the words in our tongue. Name her. Name her very being.”

 Loki’s mind immediately forgot everything he knew about her, and all the words he had spent a month and a half learning. The pressure of this single moment was more than he could have ever expected. By no means had he not done things more complex on less notice before. But this was Keshaara, and this was something that would easily have long-term effects on her. She would never be the same and…

 And he knew the pain she had felt. He had said so in Skyrim, but she had not believed him. She had not let herself understand himself, and now Loki was facing the fact that he perhaps did not know as much as he had thought. He thought of her, and realized he knew not enough of her to find a name. She was his Champion, and he had not spent much time talking with her. Actually talking. He was Lord of Lies and tricks and she had never lied to him, despite the tricks. But she had not told him much – not actually about _her_ , at least.

 There was that moment, in the caves, when he had looked through her entirety of existence, but was that enough to actually know her? Truly, was it?

 Durnehviir was silent, and Odahviing stared at him. Keshaara, nameless dragon that she was, had sat, her right hindleg splayed out underneath her at an odd angle. Beneath the scales and flesh, he could see something odd bulging behind her knee. The longer he looked at her, the more scars became apparent, ghosting over scales, dusting them with faded patches in some places, and completely removing them in others.

 This was Keshaara.

 “Kesh, please, look at me.”

 The dragon turned, and he walked up to her side at the same time. As he had seen in the baths, her eyes captivated him. As a dragon, the unmarred eye was a coalescing cascade of red, gold and orange, constantly changing. His breath stuck in his throat, and for long minutes, he just stared at her. Keshaara returned his gaze evenly, waiting, motionless. Blood still dripped from wounds she had sustained, and every breath she took washed over him. She could kill him with a simple snap of her jaws, like he had seen that dragon in Skyrim nearly do to her.

  _Frost on her hair, magic dancing on her fingers, a crown on her head, her laughter when she told a half-funny joke, the curve of her spine as she walked out of the baths, the way her breath caught, her fingers outlining unfamiliar stars, the way she held her axe so casually, her hand on his chest, pushing him out of the way, her magic and his meeting, her mind and his as one, her fangs in his neck, she would brave any storm for him, and –_

 “Yuvonjunniahkrin.”

 The words fell from his lips easily, but the thunderclap of concussive force that followed it knocked him onto his back. He had to blink his eyes as he waited for his proprioception to return to him so that he could sit up. When he did, he saw two strange men standing over Keshaara, each reaching down to help her up. Keshaara was hardly moving at all, and there seemed to be something definitely wrong with her. In the distance, Fandral, Sif, and Thor were running towards them, flanked by guardsmen.

 Belatedly, he wondered where the Tesseract was.

 The answer came when, with a deep humming sound, a blue light shone in the center of her chest. The two unfamiliar men recoiled from her quickly, hissing things too fast for Loki to catch at each other. The light reminded him of the man who had resisted the staff’s influence back on Midgard, but when it condensed back into the Tesseract, Loki scrambled ungracefully to his feet and rushed to Keshaara.

 Tendrils of hazy blue light connected the Tesseract to Keshaara still, and he could see that where the light touched her skin, there was some irritation. No blood, but the Tesseract pulsed with an eerie and unsettling glow, and he did not want the light to touch her anymore. He reached for the Tesseract, but a feeling of nausea so intense that he had to take a step back, and away from her. The two others circled Keshaara at around the same distance Loki stood at, focused intently on her.

 The blue glow travelled up and down her body, leaving score-like marks in its wake, but Keshaara, still unconscious, did not even flinch. Not until the marks came together over her mouth did she even move, and that was only to open her mouth, and allow more of the blue light to escape from her to be pulled into the Tesseract. That was what was happening. The Tesseract was pulling its power back into itself after giving her the strength to become a dragon.

 What else could the Tesseract do?

 Curiosity _~~greed~~_ piqued him, and had nausea not stopped him a second time, he would have reached for the Tesseract to see if he could feel what it was doing.

 Abruptly, the Tesseract stopped glowing, the light faded, and the fabled piece of power fell harmlessly to the grass, dull and blue, but no longer bright with power. It was only then, as the others gathered around, each clamoring for attention, for news, for information, that Keshaara moved.

 Loki swept his cloak off his shoulders to cover Keshaara, because he knew she did not like people seeing her scars and would need a moment to gather herself before executing her magic. She had wounds to heal, and more importantly to her, illusions to conjure so that she could maintain the image she wanted. Pointedly, he blocked the visitor’s views of Kesh as he knelt beside her, covering her injured eye with a calculated lean. She sat up, and leaned into him, clutching his emerald cloak around her shoulders with fingers that did not mask themselves in magic. Keshaara’s breaths gained pace and lost depth, until she was panting panickingly into his shoulder and gripping his cloak tight enough for her remaining knuckles to stand out in brilliant white. Occasional whimpers of…pain leaked through her breaths, and Loki did not know what to do.

 Confused, Loki held her close, not caring that the others were nearby. The Tesseract was all but forgotten now. He was one of her suitors, he was allowed this much. One of the new men – someone he could now identify as Durnehviir in human form (the dragons were gone, and there were new men, one of whom appeared old and rotting already) knelt next to Keshaara.

 “Thuri, what is wrong?” the dragon asked, reaching to cover Keshaara’s hand with his own.

 Behind them, Odahviing hissed at the interlopers, standing tall and blocking them from coming any closer. He may appear to be mundane, but he was still a dragon.

 With a face still half-ruined from a long-ago battle, and blood seeping from a nearly-scabbed over wounds, with golden strands still hanging from her sliced lips and the taste of dragon’s fire still on her tongue, Keshaara turned to Durnehviir, tears – **_tears_** \- in her eyes.

 “I cannot feel my magic.”

 Loki froze.

 “It’s…gone.”

 When she started to cry, he could do nothing more than gather her close to him and look to the dragons for help. None came.


	35. Bresta

The Tale of the Jotun Prince

~~The Tale of the Dragonborn~~

* * *

  

The hours after she had crumpled in his arms were misery. Loki hovered until the healers pushed him out of the room and barred it behind him. He stood outside the door, firmly in the way of anyone who would try and enter. Fandral came by only once, to ask if Keshaara was “going to be alright”.

 As if a mage could ever be whole again without their magic.

 As if Keshaara had not suffered enough.

 Loki had not managed a reply, and Fandral had excused himself shortly after. He stood careful watch, next to the guards who had been summoned to the room as well. Frigga was in there, with the other healers, and after the chaos of the day, no one was taking any chances. The two dragon-men had bulled their way inside the room and refused to be moved, assisting the healers in a way Loki could apparently not do.

 Worry kept him alert and awake far longer than he wanted to be. His knees ached and his stomach was painfully empty, but he couldn’t leave. He just could not.

 Eventually, it was Dόmhildr who came to him, her eyes downcast. She put a hand on his elbow, a shocking breech of proper conduct, but it was enough to get Loki’s attention.

 “My Prince, please, you are helping nothing by standing here. Come sleep, her room is not far from here. I will have someone gather you if she is to be released, but the process may be long, and you will be of no help to her if you are already dead on your feet.”

 The servant…the _housecarl’s_ words were soft-spoken and gentle, and when she pulled ever-so-carefully on his sleeve, he followed behind her. Any other time this would have rankled him, to be lead around like this, it would have annoyed him at the very least, but none of those feelings rose up in him as Dόmhildr led him to Keshaara’s room. He went quietly, and Dόmhildr did not try and placate him with any meaningless platitudes. No, she led him to Keshaara’s bedroom, so painfully Nordic that his breath caught, and closed the door behind him.

 He looked to the curtains, still drawn, and saw the stars of Skyrim stitched in silver and grey across a black-purple fabric. Her sky, her stars. Her room, her bed. The air hung heavily on his shoulders. He did not want to sleep. Not when he did not know what was happening with Kesh. She was surrounded by the best healers that Asgard had, and Frigga had come, even. No one died when the All-Mother was present.

 But it was not death that anyone feared. No one thought she was to die. No one feared for her life’s breath. Her wounds were serious, yes, and any other time he would have been worried about her, but not in the same sort of all-consuming way that he was concerned about her now.

 She was a mage without magic.

 She was…he had…how could he have done this to her?

 He walked to the curtains, reaching out to touch her stars. As soon as his fingers touched the silver thread of one of the stars in the constellation of the Lover –

* * *

  Her lover’s hair spread out like a red-fire halo around their head, snow dusting their skin and hair. Aela’s blush after she kissed her for the first time. Farkas’s smile right before she licked his ear, and then his smile as he attempted to chase after her. Holding her lover to her chest, rubbing circles on his back as he cried out his pain. Green, green eyes, even when the face swam from her own intoxication. Whispered words of adoration, questions on love and the gentle feeling of knowing that love was not for her.

* * *

  Loki pulled his fingers away from the star as if he had been burned by it. The magic was intensely mental, bringing up memories he knew were not his, but Keshaara’s. He almost let the fabric fall from his fingers. If every star she had stitched was like this one, it was a huge breach of trust for him to go through them. He should allow her these small comforts.

 He could practically imagine her stitching her memories back into something as plain as a curtain like that, her magic humming around her. Norns, her magic had been the sweetest treat to see at work. Not just the destruction, mind you, but the illusions, too. Her magic was so different, so wild and uncontrolled, while still managing to be precise and delicate. He had always meant to ask her to teach him more of her magic, and to teach her his, but the time had never come. It seemed, after all, that time had run out on that fantasy.

 And then he was hit with a sobering thought.

 Keshaara’s kind lived about as long as the Midgardians had long before their industrial revolution. She was, by her reckoning, nearly five hundred years old. What if these were not meant to be a way for her to experience what she had lost in Skyrim, but instead for her to remember as her own memories faded? The thought was painful, because it meant that she had already started to forget. Her memories were faded pieces of cloth, with feelings impressed deeply into her, but the actual circumstances, perhaps, beginning to fade away. He reached for the curtains again, careful to avoid touching the star-points stitched in.

 Loki hoped he wasn’t right.

 He hoped, but he had a feeling that this hope was nothing more than just that. Keshaara was old. Age brought forgotten memories.

 Loki slowly let the fabric flow through his fingers, the pad of his thumb accidentally brushing over another stitched-in star.

* * *

Eyes greener than the Roarer looked up at her, grime smeared across his skin, cheekbones high and pride and fury burning in his eyes. Those same eyes staring down at her in shock as she sat on the ground, keeping watch. Green eyes wide with panic as she stalked after him, her fangs aching and mind set on predation. The curl of skin at the corners of his eyes as he glared at her, challenging her words with a knife into her side. The barest touch of green in his eyes, with his pupils blown wide as she leaned up into him, the bath’s heat doing nothing to provide excess warmth to his skin. Worry painted the green with painful yellow in her memory, but would brush brilliant gold into the irises when they were engaged in debate or heated conversation. Warmth colored the memories, a content bloom in the chest that reached outwards with enough force to make one feel impossibly small.

Confusion, pain, worry, all centered on green, green eyes. Green eyes rimmed in purpling skin and bloodied flesh, green eyes narrowed in concentration during combat, green eyes _almost_ brimming with tears when everything else was swimming in agony.

 Brilliant green eyes wide with shock as a wall of magic separated them. The sharp pang of loss as the green, green eyes vanished.

 The memories spun wildly, but then –

 Green eyes looking up from a new face, with round cheeks and brown-black hair. A chubby finger wrapped around her own, and green, green eyes. The overwhelming sense of love and adoration for her child.

 Green eyes staring out at her from a not-so-secret hiding space as she scolded, a hand on her hip and the other on a wooden spoon. Green eyes crinkled at the edges with a broad, gap-toothed smile. Green eyes in an aging face, edging towards maturity, towards marriage to a beautiful woman with eyes that were as soft as lavender, towards a majesty all their own.

 Green eyes blistering with mischief, and love, and –

 Green eyes in a new face, with round cheeks and red-brown hair. A chubby finger wrapped around her own, a smiling girl-babe with a destiny glittering in her very soul.

 Green, green eyes.

Wildfire eyes. 

* * *

 The fabric slipped from his hand to fall back into place, shifting only ever so slightly from the disturbance. Loki stood in silence, motionless.

From behind him, he heard the door open.

He turned, and…

“Loki?”

 Keshaara’s voice was rough, and when she turned her head back towards her bedroom door, he could see the line of a vicious scar across her throat. That explained the voice then.

 Did he tell her what he had seen? Did he dare _ask_ her about what he had seen? Farkas had had pale silver eyes, not green. Loki – Loki had green eyes. He had green, green eyes and his magic that night…it _had_ been specifically for…her.

 She still had his cloak around her shoulders, her hands and arms hidden beneath its emerald cloth. She did not look at him directly. There were stitches in her lips, holding tender skin together where she had been sewn before, and across her face, where Paarthurnax had clawed her. The scars that had been there beneath her magic were all still in place, as were a few that he had not remembered seeing before. Her ears were each missing pieces, with her left ear missing a deep gouge of flesh, while her right just had a jagged lobe that followed the line of a scar that jutted up from beneath her jaw.

 Keshaara was an old, old, warrior. He remained rooted to the spot where he stood, his fingers burning from where he had touched her memories. Her good eye dipped to the constellations stitched into the cloth behind him, and Loki felt the most unusual sense of shame rise up in him.

 “Kesh…Dόmhildr brought me, I had only just, I didn’t mean to – I didn’t _know_.”

 He made a half-gesture to her, to the curtain behind him, before the meaning of the gesture abandoned him completely. His hand fell back to his side and he just looked at her again.

 “Loki, it is fine. Dόmhildr was doing what she thought best.”

 Keshaara walked forward. One hand clasped the cloak around her throat and the other, it soon became obvious, was holding onto a cane, supporting her weight as she moved. Her limp was heavily pronounced, and her stride was close to halved. She walked with a careful precision that would have usually been reserved for sneaking, but now only served to keep her upright.

 He stayed still as she approached, resisting the urge to reach for her. It looked as if the slightest disturbance to her personal space would send her falling to the ground.

 Her hand uncurled from around his cloak and reached for the curtains. Almost fearfully, she traced a finger over one of the stars in the Tower constellation. Nothing happened. No magic came to her to show the memories she had embedded in the thread. No, she was truly without magic at all.

 “Did you see anything when you touched the star, Loki?” she asked softly.

 His words failed him. He nodded.

 The small curl of the corner of her mouth made his chest ache. She stared at the star under her finger, rubbing the thread over and over and over again, as if that would eke out any small amount of magic. Just enough to see them again. Just once.

 Keshaara reached for Loki’s hand. His cloak slipped off her shoulders, not that she appeared to mind at all, even as it exposed the rest of the bandages and scars she had kept hidden beneath it. Gently, she guided him to the star she had selected, out of all of the ones present, and let him touch it.

* * *

A mer, with pointed ears and over-large eyes, picking her up, the memory faded down to only a few flashes of thought. There was pain, and then all at once, there wasn’t, and the memory tinged itself with gold. He brought his hand up, little soothing lights dancing at his fingers, and smiled.

Warmth.

A blonde man, armorless, but battle-blooded, standing over her, a hand extended and the word “sister” on his lips. The same man, a sword in hand, cutting down an opponent who had stepped too close to her as she nocked another arrow to her stolen bow. _Brother_ , she said, and he laughed in response. In battle, everyone was brother.

 Farkas staring at her from the other side of an iron grate. She was trapped and there was no time – the cavern was full of Silver Hand. Her bow was in hand. She would go down fighting, even if she was trapped and a little woozy. Farkas as a werewolf, tearing arms off of attackers and beating their companions to death with the aforementioned arms. Farkas howling his pain when one of the silver swords sliced through his chest, and the golden light at her fingertips sprang forward to heal him. He grabbed an arrow out of the air and snapped it.

 Aela’s back pressed against hers, their voices raised in battle-cries.

 Warmth. Acceptance.

 A flash of emerald and bronze, a challenge called back to swarming Falmer. Hazy recognition and shock, but warmth still.

 Protective, all-encompassing, warmth. 

* * *

 Loki pulled his hand away, not wanting to see any more of this. Those were memories of where she had fallen and someone else had picked her up. Those were all people who she had trusted in battle and who had not let her down. These were memories, strong and weak alike, and Keshaara had no access to them anymore. Not in the way she had originally intended. She had saved these memories in magic because her age had grown so far beyond what she had ever expected. Her age was his fault. In order to send him _home_ , she had given up something so very valuable.

Keshaara looked at him, her face unreadable.

 “Kesh…I didn’t know.”

 “It _was_ not, and _is_ not your fault, Loki.”

 He reached up to touch the scar on the left side of her face, his fingers trailing over the length of it all. She allowed the contact, remaining as still as she possibly could, even as his fingers traced over her closed eye.

 “I am-”

 “Please don’t say anything Loki. This is not something you did to me.”

 He swallowed his words and bent down to pick up his cloak off the floor. Rather than affix it to his own shoulders again, he swept it over hers instead. Keshaara bowed her head to look at the cloak, smiling and reaching up to run her fingers down the hem of the fabric. Loki felt like hesitating, stopping, thinking about what he did next, but there was no…he couldn’t…

 He kissed her, cradling her face with both hands, running his thumb across the scar beneath her eye, and not caring that her stitches dug into his lips. Her response was slow in coming, almost slow enough for him to think he had overstepped, but Keshaara was kissing him back, one hand reaching out to wrap around his waist and pull him closer. Her weight was heavy against him as she leaned against him.

 She flinched when he pushed too hard on her lips, and Loki retreated quickly. Fresh drops of blood gleamed from around some of the stitches holding her lips together and a fresh apology alighted upon his lips. Keshaara pressed a half-there finger against his lips and smiled.

 “Loki, it is fine. The pain is not new.”

 Loki tried to mumble an apology with her finger still pressed against him, but she gave him another swift kiss, leaving a smear of blood behind. With her cane in hand, she limped towards her bed, sitting down stiffly. She yawned as best she could without tearing her stitches open and rocked her right leg up onto the mattress, followed briefly after by her left. Loki was at her side almost instantly, kneeling down to remain on her level.

 Keshaara huffed at him, but allowed the gesture. He rubbed his thumb over the back of her knuckles – one of the few places on her entire left arm not covered in bandages - over and over and over again, until she sighed and pulled his hand up onto her stomach.

 “If you’re going to hover, Loki, be useful. My knee feels like it’s on fire and you’re a natural ice compress.”

 Her tone was irritated, but Loki could see the smile on her face. Her fingers, both whole and less-so, tapped on the back of his hand, an irregular beat he could not immediately recognize.

 “So eager to have me in your bed, O Dovhakiin?” he quipped at her, deliberate with his words as he had been all those nights ago in Skyrim.

 “Loki, I would tie you to my bed in a heartbeat if I thought it would mean you stayed. I would keep you here, in this room, in this bed, with me, until the entire world unraveled.”

As before, her answer was not what he was expecting, and it caught him entirely off guard.

 He was halfway into her bed, halfway out of his clothes, and he stopped for only a second. He slid into her bed regardless, slipping out of his heavily ornamented clothing, leaving him in his trousers and shirtless. Keshaara turned to him, lifting an arm in greeting, and Loki enveloped her in an embrace that was intimate without being presumptuous. He let her wrap her bandaged arm over his shoulder as he slung his arm over her hip and pulled her close to him.

 Remembering her words, he was careful to pull his pantsleg up high enough so that he could press his knee against her injured one gently. She sighed happily and _cuddled_ into him, nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck and twining herself around him as best she could, given her current state. Loki chose to ignore his own discomfort, and especially chose to ignore the ridges he could feel rising out of her skin. She was still wrapped in his cloak. He pulled the edges of it closer as best he could, pulling her along with the cloak. Keshaara mumbled something he did not catch, but it did not matter.

 He was happy. 

* * *

 A knock at Keshaara’s bedroom door woke them both the next morning. Kesh was sitting up first, detangling herself from Loki’s arms, and looking to the door.

 “Yes?”

 She did nothing to disguise that she and Loki were in bed, and did not move to hide him from sight of whoever was entering. Dόmhildr opened the door only enough to poke her head into the room.

 “My Thane, it is…Odin has called for an audience. He wishes to see you and Loki both for the meting out of the final challenge. Loki stole the Tesseract from Odin’s own armory and in doing so, granted Odin a rightful challenge as well.”

 Loki was awake, propped up only by a single elbow. Keshaara got out of bed stiffly, leaning down to rub at her knee. Loki, it seemed, was a pretty bad ice pack.

 “Thank you Dόmhildr. Did Odahviing bring my brace?”

“Yes, just a few moments ago. The two dragon-men worked all night in the smithshop to make it, they say.”

Keshaara nodded, reaching for her cane. Loki’s cloak lay in her bed still. She made no move to pick it up, or draw attention to it, but Loki had awoken once in the night to see her pulling it closer to her face and breathing deeply.

 Durnehviir and Odahviing had been forced into Nordic forms by proximity to Keshaara’s own transformation. She was Thuri Dovah, and they were bound to the same fate she was, after a certain extent. They had been close enough to be trapped by the residual magic, and had been caught in the backlash. It worked well enough for them, and Durnehviir seemed most happy to have a form that was _new_ after being trapped for so long.

 Keshaara had had a long conversation with the both of them the night before. The disease lingering in her arm needed constant looking over. Mage-rot was a bitch like that. Without her magic, it could progress and require her entire left arm to be amputated. She did not necessarily want to think about that, nor about what it could mean if –

 “Thuri Dovah, is your arm well?!”

 Odahviing had no semblance of an indoor voice. He bullied past Dόmhildr and into the room. He reached for Keshaara’s left arm, pulling it as gently as he could towards him, even as she tried to pull her arm back and away.

 “Odah, please, not now.”

 “Durnehviir says the mage rot may have progressed visibly overnight if it progresses at all. He asked me to check on it. He also says that I need to check on you, to make sure that you are not injured.”

 Keshaara flushed, and did not look back to Loki, even though she was certain that he had heard and would have questions.

 “Later Odah, right now I need my brace. We were summoned to Odin’s whim.”

 The dragon-man nodded and toddled out, humming happily.

 Loki was dressing himself when Keshaara finally looked back to him.

 “Kesh, what was the dragon speaking of? What is wrong with your arm?”

 She considered, briefly, lying. But Loki would know if she was lying, and it seemed in poor taste to lie, now that she had been found out.

 “I…it’s something that affects older mages. We start building up magicka in our bones, and over time, the magicka replaces bone. It leads to numbness, and with constant magicka flowing through the affected limb, nothing more. Without that magicka flow, the static magicka builds up and starts…burning through the bones, and eventually, flesh. It doesn’t hurt, it just spreads, and may require amputation.”

 She spoke as quickly as she could, even as Loki advanced on her.

 “You have this and the healers do not know how to fix it?”

 “Yes. There’s no cure. If it is mage rot truly, eventually they will have to remove my arm. It may just be residual numbness. They aren’t sure yet.”

 “Were you going to tell me?”

 That was _not_ the question she had expected, and it caught her off guard.

 “I…if it was mage rot, and it required amputation, yes. Other than that, I did not think it important for anyone else to know about.”

 Loki muttered angrily, and pulled her into a bruising kiss. He did not let go of her until he was certain that she was breathless. He did not want her interrupting him. The words at the back of his throat needed to come out all at once, or he was afraid that he would not be able to find them again. Time and again, the words had come up, and he had swallowed them down, but he needed to tell her – if Odin was going to try him and her for what he had done to save her, it may be the last chance he had.

 “Kesh,” he started, but then Odaviing brushed back into the room.

 “Thuri! I have your brace. I remembered the drawing you had shown me back in Skyrim. It was made to those specifications with what I could find here that matched it. Durnehviir said I should not add any magic-bearing gems to it, but I left some settings in the metal anyway, just in case you changed your mind. The housecarl Dόmhildr says we need to hurry.”

 Keshaara stepped away from Loki and his world felt immediately less vibrant. Odahviing held a rather complex-looking brace in his hands, and was already kneeling down at Keshaara’s side, fitting the brace over her thigh, knee and calf.

 “Kesh, I-”

 “Loki, I need to get this brace on, and then get ready,” Keshaara said, wobbling unsteadily on her left leg as Odahviing began tightening the brace. “Can it wait?”

 Loki nodded mutely. The words had left him again. He could not say something so intimately _true_ when they were not alone.

 He excused himself with a short bow and swept out of her bedroom, leaving his cloak behind. He had others, and that one would only dog him with Keshaara’s scent for the entirety of the day. If they were to meet with Odin, being half-distracted with her smell would do nothing to help his situation. Regret would do him nothing when Odin threw him back into the cell he had been in when Keshaara had first burst into the Nine Realms.

 Loki only paused for a moment outside of Keshaara’s bedroom, pressing a hand to his chest. How could he justify telling her what burned him to say when she was in such dire health? His mother had always chided him for being so selfish, for never considering the feelings of the other in the moment. While it was not true that he did not consider feelings – he was acutely aware of other people’s emotional triggers – he never considered them extraneous to his own plans. And now, it seemed, that he had to do just that.

 Keshaara was in pain, and he could only think of telling her…only think of telling her words he was certain she had never heard in earnest.

 He was selfish.

 And stupid.

 And therefore, silent, when Keshaara came out of her bedroom, garbed in the same outfit she seemed to have infinite variations of: a pair of leather and cloth trousers, a loose-fitting, long sleeved blouse, with her hair pulled back into a braid. What was different than before were the grievous scars and her limp, and the way Odahviing hovered behind her, with her cane in his hands.

 Loki sighed. Nothing in the Nine Realms matched her. Nothing could ever hope to.

 He was indeed selfish, because the words came unbidden. Even though he managed to catch them barest moments before truly making himself the biggest ass in Asgard, he could not help it.

 “You are radiant, Keshaara. I lo- _ok_ …forward to having you defend me one last time in front of Odin and all of Asgard. Truly there has never been anyone like you, my Champion.”

 Keshaara gave him a queer look out of her good eye, narrowing her gaze ever so slightly. But she made no comment, merely offered him a polite nod and began walking towards the door, her gait stilted, but stable enough to move without the need for a cane.

 Loki followed behind her, his tongue sore from setting his teeth into it in order to keep it from wagging any further. Now was not the time.

 It was not the time for him to be selfish.


	36. Freista

The Tale of the Dragon ~~born~~

The Tale of the Jotun Prince

* * *

 

 

Keshaara walked stiffly towards the audience chamber. As many times as she had been there already, this was the first time she was not at least somewhat relishing the meeting. Without magic, she felt…unstable. Not afraid, never afraid, but she was acutely aware that she looked and walked like a target now.

 She kept her singular good eye in constant movement, to minimize the area in which she could be surprised from. Loki walked at her side, careful to stay firmly in her blind spot so that she would not have to worry about an attack. He was there. She did not ask him to move, and when he adjusted his stride to hers, she knew that Loki was not going to walk past her. It was a tacit understanding of her sightlessness in that eye, and he made no great overture about it as they walked.

 It was what it was.

 But in her blind spot, he could let the mask slip and cast glances of worry over her.

  _This is my fault_ , his mind hissed at him. _I did this to her. The naming was not enough, I was not fast enough, and now she lives in pain. How could I have made such a grievous mistake. How could I have done this to her. She is shattered and **I did it**. _

 He wanted to take her hand.

 He wanted to stop their walk to Odin, who would see her weakness, who saw so much more than just mere weakness and craved to see Loki in chains again. Odin would have already seen what had happened to her, been told everything Odahviing and Durnehviir had said in the healing rooms. Odin was not the Allfather by chance. The man was meant to be King, but that meant only that he was as skilled at breaking people as making them.

 Loki knew that. Odin had a skill that not even Thanos and the Others could claim as their own. When he spoke, Odin spoke with words sharp enough to splinter even Mjolnir.

  _She is already in pieces and you take her to Odin, who will only try and break her further. He will take her pieces from your hands and turn them to dust, only to scatter them on the wind. You will never put her back together._

 “Loki.”

 Keshaara had noticed him, deep in thought. They were nearly to the audience chamber, and there was no great clamor from an assembly. He turned his gaze to her, and had a hand halfway to her own, when she drew away. Slightly, but it was enough to send his mind tumbling into a maelstrom all over again.

 “There is no one in that room.”

 Her eyes flicked only briefly to him, accompanied by a turn of her head so he could read the movement appropriately.

 He could find no words to offer her. There was something afoot, for a surety, because Odin could never let things sorts of manners go without some branch of showmanship or another. Casting Thor out had been an ordeal, but Loki could have sworn Odin enjoyed the whole fiasco. Golden son or no, Odin was _king_ and reveled in that title more than was proper.

 Keshaara turned back to the dragon-men behind her, signaling them with her hands to stay where they were. Odahviing stepped forward only to offer her the cane, but she waved him off. Durnehviir did not move, merely stared at the door to the audience chamber, as still as stone, a skill most dragons had, but was doubly unnerving when he was in the body of a Nord.

 She turned back to the door, and squared her shoulders. She was still Dovahkiin, and whatever Odin had in store could not be any more horrific than what she had already conquered.

 Loki followed behind her and they walked into the audience chamber.

 It was dark. Astonishingly so. With only one good eye, Keshaara quickly lost sight of Loki, walking into the darkness alone. When she turned back, she saw nothing, and did not hear anything from Loki. There was not enough light for her single eye to pick anything out, and it would take her precious moments to adjust.

 She stepped backwards, back towards where she had been, reaching for the door they had come through, but her hand met nothing. Confused, Keshaara walked even further, back in the direction she was certain she had come from, but she never met a wall, or a door.

 “Loki?”

 “ _Loki?!_ ”

 Nothing. No sound. It was as if the darkness swallowed the sound whole. She had no idea where Loki was, but panic touched her. Loki was who she was here to protect, he was her only reason to stay in Asgard, he was who she had stood up to the second son of Akatosh to protect, he was everything. But she couldn’t find him.

 “Loki?”

* * *

“Kesh!”

As soon as they had passed over the threshold, he had felt the whiplash of magic seal the door behind them. He had turned back, to try and push the door open, and reached for Keshaara, but her fingers slipped through his, and by the time he had committed to not being able to escape and lunge for her, he could feel magic not of his own make wrapping around him, constricting him. Holding him still.

 She called his name. She had called his name on Jotunheim, screaming for him to come save her from the monstrosities that she feared would be foisted upon her, and he had not heard, nor come to her aide. Had he managed to hear her, perhaps so much could have been avoided. So when he heard her, he opened his mouth to call back to her, to find her in the darkness and pull her close. She had no magic she was in trouble she was –

 A gag snapped over his mouth, shackles bound his wrists and ankles, and a mighty force hit the back of his knees, with enough force to force him to kneel. He pulled at the restraints, howling mutely as he recognized it all for what it was.

 His magic bound, blazing in his chest, but unable to burst free, the illusion dropped, and bright light assaulted him. Odin sat at his throne, smirking triumphantly. The court had gathered, only the higher echelons of nobility were invited, and he could see Fandral, Sif, Volstagg and Hogun all in attendance, standing near the Lady Jane. Fandral’s face was drawn into an expression Loki had almost never seen on the perpetually-smiling man’s visage. Fandral was sneering, his lips curled in a dastardly unattractive way, and when Loki tracked his gaze, he found it centered not on Keshaara, who was wandering blind to the magic that had bound her, but on Odin.

 The Warriors Three were not pleased, and standing so that Odin could not see them. But Loki could.

 He felt an uncommon surge of…kinship to the Warriors Three that he did not usually feel. Sif was doing nothing to stop Fandral, and he could read fury in her frame as well. They were all angry at this turn of events. He was mad too.

 “Loki?”

 Keshaara called for him again, a hand extended outwards to where she thought he was.

 He looked back to her and screamed against his gag all over again. He could feel his muscles cording in his neck from the force of the vitriol in his curses. The guards that had shackled him kneed him simultaneously, to try and cause him to stop his movements.

 On his throne, Odin smirked.

 Loki hated him with every last shred of fury within him. When Odin gestured for someone to step forward, his fury somehow found room to grow. This hiss from the gathered nobility drew his ire. The woman who came forward should not _be here_.

 He screamed her name, even though he knew she could never hear him.

* * *

Keshaara’s vision expanded, the darkness receding from her enough for her to see the pattern of the floor beneath her feet, and to see a woman approaching her. The woman was garbed in a cloak of shadows, and Keshaara was careful to not present a target to the new person .

“Keshaara of Morrowind.”

Her head jutted up.

 “I am she.”

 “So Odin told me. I would be remiss if I did not introduce myself.”

 She swept her hood off, and Keshaara was blessedly thankful that her time with Durnehviir had prepared her for this manner of thing. The woman seemed to be in the constant process of rot, her flesh opening, rotting, and healing all at the same time. It was incredibly unnerving, but Keshaara would not flinch away. For something like this to be happening to someone, they must be a powerful being to survive it. Durnehviir was a incredibly power, very old dragon, and she was appropriately hesitant to offer insult to this woman.

 “I am Hel, of Helheim. My realm is that of death.”

 “Well met, my Lady Hel.”

 Keshaara inclined her head politely.

 “Odin sets before you a task, one that I must give, as I am the only one in the Nine Realms capable of giving it unto you.”

 Keshaara’s single good eye narrowed.

 “I see. Why does he choose this?”

 “Loki has committed treason and theft against the crown. The only way to extract a punishment of him is through you.”

 “I see. And the reason for the magical shroud? Where is Loki?”

 “The shroud is to ensure that you remain focused on me and what I am going to ask permission to give you. Loki is bound and silent, for now. The nature of this trial precludes him being able to assist.”

 Keshaara was exceedingly careful with her next question.

 “Then what is it you wish to give me?”

 “What you want.”

 Hel moved to the side, gesturing for something - someone to walk out of the darkness. Keshaara gasped and covered her mouth, both of her knees going weak.

 “ _No,_ ” she whispered, though she did not know if it was apprehension or excitement that colored her word. 

 From behind her, she heard a muffled wail, but Keshaara paid it no mind.

 “ _Farhan?_ ” she asked the shade, the specter before her, reaching out.

 “Hello mother. It has been a while.”

 Hel forgotten, Keshaara walked to her son, who came forward just far enough to brush an incorporeal hand across her knuckles. It was her wildfire-eyed son, her trueborn son, her blood and bone, her flesh and spirit. Her **son**.

 Farhan, nearly a spitting image of Loki, smiled.

 From behind Keshaara, Loki stared at the shade. If he had not known his face as well as he did, he would have sworn he was looking at a slightly broader version of himself. Farhan, son of Keshaara, was undeniably also Farhan, son of Loki. That was – Keshaara really had – Farhan was - they were –

 “I had nearly forgotten how tall you wer…are, my son.”

 She had to look up to gaze at her son. Hel was silent beside her, allowing this moment to linger. The gathered nobility were still silent.

 “I am sorry, mother. Would you prefer to see us as this?”

 As he spoke, Farhan shrunk and regressed in age, until he was toddler, only nearly tall enough to hug his mother’s knee. He reached his hands up to her, and without a second thought, Keshaara picked him up, settling him on her hip as she had done all the other times.

 “Mother!” “Mama!” “Mah!”

 And over and over, as little toddler shade-lings all dashed out of the darkness, Keshaara knelt down to greet every one of her twelve children by name, smiling broadly.

 “Mama, your face! Mama, your eyes! Mama! Mama! Mama!”

 Tears danced in her eyes as she hugged every last one of her children as best she could when they were naught but lightforms and spirits. It was not enough, but it was more than she could have ever hoped to have, ever again. She had missed them all. Her children she had never thought she would see again. Sovengarde was not hers to have, so this happy visit was nothing more than just that – a visit. A visit she had never thought possible, a visit that made her old heart break all over again as she looked upon the faces of her centuries-dead children and husband. 

 “Wife mine, it is good to see you.”

 She looked up, to where Farkas, as whole and hale as he had been the day they had married. He reached for her hand, lifting it to his mouth so he could press a gentle kiss to the space between the middle and ring finger of her left hand.

“Husband-”

“<Little Keshaara?>”

“Ada!”

Farkas’s appearance was overwhelmed by the shade of her favorite father. Keshaara was careful to avoid knocking any of her children over, but she still rushed to his side to hug him tightly. The shade’s arms were the barest weight on her body, but she did not care. It was her Ada! Her beloved Ada, real and present.

Keshaara’s heart felt likely to burst at any moment as her children grew rapidly before her eyes, and she could not help the first tear that slid down her face. These were her children, her husband, her father, her family. Hel was silent as the reunion continued. Keshaara pressed her forehead to Farkas’s, smiled at her children, and for a moment, forgot everything about Asgard and Loki. She had her family.

 “Keshaara.”

 Hel finally spoke, breaking through the happiness. Keshaara turned to her, the joy turning to ash in her mouth. This was a trial, she remembered. Odin would not have asked Hel to bring these shades to her as a mere kindness. 

 “I offer you death. My domain is death, and I can take you to the Sovengarde of your people. You will not have to languor here overlong, and you will have a freedom from the years that plague you.”

 Keshaara froze. The shades of Farkas and her father faded from view, as did the darkness. She saw the assembled, and she knew if she bothered to look, Odin would be smiling. Loki was on her blind side, but she could hear him now, struggling against those that held him down. Keshaara’s mouth was dry.

“You offer me death as a gift?”

“It is all I can offer. Death, glory in Sovengarde, and your family back. You and they, living together, happy and content, for all the days. There will be no thing to worry about, no stalkers in the night, no nothing. I will take you, and take you now, to Helheim, and release your soul from your body there. It will be a true death, and you will be brought to Sovengarde with no further pain, to live with your family for eternity. I know you have tried to take yourself there on your own,” Hel said, looking pointedly down at Keshaara’s left arm, and Keshaara resisted the urge to hide the arm behind her back. “And have failed, for the curses lain upon you keep your soul trapped in a body that wishes to fade.”

 Keshaara reached down to tousle the hair of one of her children, smiling down at them.

 “Hel-aedra, you have offered me the only thing I think could have ever tempted me from the path I walk," she said, turning to Hel only briefly before looking back to her children. "I have loved you, my children for a thousand years, and I will love you for a thousand more. I have waited, every night, longing for the sun that would not rise so that I could be with you. I have waited, every day for the moon to open wide and take me to Sovengarde. I have waited all these years to see you again, my beloved whelplings.”

 The silence overwhelmed her. Keshaara, shakingly, painfully, knelt, disguising her discomfort with a bowed head. One of her children draped their arms over her shoulders and butted their forehead against her cheek.

 Odin smiled.

 Loki wailed, but only silence maintained.

 Keshaara took a deep breath.

 “But I will not accept. I cannot. That is not how one obtains Sovengarde. It would bring no glory to my family to do this. I must stay. I will not be foresworn.”

 Keshaara bowed forward to press her forehead to the floor at Hel’s feet, and then rose. Or at least, she attempted to rise. Her right knee refused to cooperate, and she struggled to get her leg underneath her.  Hel offered her a hand, and Keshaara was not so proud to refuse it, balancing delicately on her left leg. Her right leg was blistering in agony, courtesy of an old arrowhead that had never been removed. With magic, it was a dull ache, without it, the wrong movement could make her weep.

 “Thank you, Hel-aedra. Thank you for letting me see my family again. I have missed them. It is a great gift to have been given, and I fear I have nothing that I can give back to you.”

 Hel only released her hand when she was certain that Keshaara could stand. Keshaara felt something stir in her chest, and pressed a hand over her heart. She looked to Hel, to see if the other had done something to her, but Hel shook her head. What was happening was not her doing, but the afteraffects of touching what should not have been touched and doing what should not have done.

 “Keshaara, you are built unlike any others I have ever met. In all of these Realms, your sacrifices are…saddening, more than any others I have seen. The death that awaits you is the only kindness I can assure you of. What has been lost will be found again. Loki is lucky to have you.”

 Keshaara inclined her head. The Aedra rarely spoke clearly, far preferring riddles, and it seemed Hel was worthy of the honorary title of aedra that Keshaara had bestowed upon her. Hel, her family’s shades, and the silence all faded together, leaving Keshaara, alone, balancing on her lone good leg. There was a roar from the assembled, and when she turned to Odin, the man looked nearly fit to burst.

 “Is that all, Odin? I have need of my cane. Odah, please?”

 The dragon-man hurried over, shoving through the crowd and quickly coming to Keshaara’s side. She took her cane from the dragon and nodded her thanks to Odahviing.

 “Loki is still not a freedman. He stole the Tesseract, he attacked Midgard, and he still must be held accountable for those actions.”

 “For a surety, he does. I am still his Champion, and will answer whatever comes his way. But you _will_ order your guards to unshackle him immediately. He is not yet guilty and deserving of punishment yet.”

 Odin sneered.

 “He is bound and will remain as such until you answer to the final two challenges. Jane of Midgard has decided that your final task will be to heft Mjolnir, to prove your worth and his own.”

 There was a stunned, angry ripple of dissent from the crowd, quickly silenced by Odin’s icy stare. Keshaara looked to Jane, who stared back evenly for but a moment, before looking away. Keshaara did not blame Jane. It was hard to look her in the eye when she wore her gored eye on display for all to see.

 “Odah, free Loki. If the guards attack you, eat them. No man I Champion wears shackles. Those who shackle him will be destroyed.”

 Odahviing nodded, and turned his head towards the guards flanking the kneeling Loki. His lips peeled back and he _hissed_ at the guards. His voice blistered with power, and the guardsmen jumped out of his way.

 Odin growled, and gestured for the guards to unbind Loki.

 “If you continue to threaten my guards like this, I will have you thrown in prison or executed, Champion Keshaara. You are in Asgard, and are bound by my laws.”

 “I am bound by no laws of yours. Bring this Mjolnir. I would rather face that trial now instead of waiting. My knee aches desperately and I am hungry. Bring Mjolnir and let this be _done_.”

 Thor stepped forward, sending a sad look to his brother. Mjolnir, the hammer, was placed just in front of the throne, at the base of the dais. Loki, still being released from his bindings, muttered agitated words beneath his breath. If he could just get these cuffs off of him faster, release the muzzle, he could wrap them both in magic and whisk her away. This was too much. His son, Keshaara’s son, all of her family, all given up for him when she had nothing of her own any more.

“Odin, you know this is not a fair trial. There is no one who can heft that hammer. You are dooming her to failure.”

 It was Sif who spoke, her voice cutting the silence. Loki whipped his head around to stare at her, his eyes wide. His movement kept the muzzle on for precious moments longer. Odin said nothing, merely smirked down at Keshaara, who limped forward, leaning heavily on her cane. Sif was hushed by the Warriors Three, but the stares they sent back to Odin told Loki that Keshaara had perhaps managed to impress the other warriors of Asgard.

 “I only have to lift the hammer?”

 “Yes. Lift the hammer.”

 “And then Loki is no longer held guilty by the count of Midgard as a whole, only by those who still find him objectionable there, as here.”

 “Yes, by the laws of Asgard, he will have been absolved of the crimes committed on Midgard. If you can lift the hammer and thereby prove yourself.”

 Keshaara looked up at Odin, judging him harshly.

 “Swear it on the lifeblood of your wife.”

 “I so swear.”

 “And on your son.”

 “Sworn again.”

 “Then so be it.”

 Keshaara nodded. Carefully, she stooped down, letting her cane rest against the lowermost stair to the throne, and taking her time in reaching for the leather of the hammer’s hilt. The hammer hummed with magic she could hear, but no, she could not feel it. It was there, she knew it, but she had no magic to commune with it. Had she had her magic, she would have spoken with the enscorcelled weapon, told it of her name and deeds, and what she needed from it.

  ~~But she had no magic.~~ (Something dark and dangerous uncurled in her chest)

 She straightened up, standing tall, letting the hammer rest easily in her hands. It hung easily from her hand, not an immovable object. In fact, the hammer felt like the lightest thing in the world. There was a gasp, and then silence. She was worthy of the hammer? She _was_.

 Loki’s breath caught as Keshaara turned towards him. Mjolnir in hand, and she could not care less. She left her cane leaning on the stairs and walked to Loki, holding the hammer out to him, before sinking gracefully onto a knee in front of him and offering the hammer with a bowed head. Loki stole a look back to the man who would have had him consider him father, and was thrilled to see Odin’s face was as red as the apples he favored.

 Observing the proper customs was easy. He rested a hand on the hilt, and was preparing to thank Keshaara for bringing him such a fine weapon, but it must be returned when her hand closed over his, and she stood. With some struggle she straightened to her feet again and lifted the hammer high above their heads. Loki lifted the hammer with her, his hand trapped between the sweat-stained leather and her blazing hot palm. Mjolnir did not reject them. The hammer yielded, and they hefted it together. The hammer yielded, and all of the noble court saw Loki, once-son of Odin, son of Frigga, lift the enchanted weapon. 

 Loki did not once look at the hammer, but at Keshaara, who stared straight back at Odin, a challenge in the way her jaw was set. Together, they placed the hammer back down, Loki never looking anywhere but his Champion’s face.

 There was a rush of coolness when her hand released his. He missed her touch.

 Again, Odahviing moved to fetch her cane and bring it to her.

 “I take my leave now, Odin. I trust that will be all for today. Good day.”

 With that, she limped away, the dragon-man following behind her. Loki looked down at the hammer. He had lifted Mjolnir. He and Keshaara had lifted it together. The punch-drunk smile of victory did not leave his face, not even as he followed Keshaara out. He never bothered to look back at Odin. Keshaara was worthy. She was _worthy_ and _he had_ lifted the hammer.

  _She gave up her happiness for you. Her magic is gone, and her chance of Sovengarde is gone and **you are happy because you lifted a fucking hammer**. _

 His mind was ever-quick to tear happiness from him. Keshaara walked on, back to her rooms, leaning on her cane with Odahviing and Durnehviir flanking her worriedly. He could see them all dip their heads in conversation, and Keshaara made a simple gesture towards her left arm that had Durnehviir straighten in surprise and shock. They were too far for him to listen in on the conversation, and he found that he did not necessarily want to know what had Durnehviir frantically urging Keshaara on towards her room.

_She gave up everything for you. Again. Do you deserve that, at all?_


	37. Sváss

The Tale of the Dragon ~~born~~

The Tale of the Jotun Prince

* * *

 

 

Keshaara avoided him.

 At first, it seemed incidental. She would walk by, in a conversation with someone else, and by the time Loki thought to follow after her, she was gone. Never had the palace seemed as large as it did for the next few days. He would hear her, just in passing, see the last flair of her skirt (when had she started wearing _skirts_ ) as she turned a corner, smell her on the air as if he was but a few moments from her, but there was never anything.

 As the days wore on, it became obvious it was intentional.

  _Of course she doesn’t want to be around you, you stole her magic away, you abandoned her, you are the reason she cannot be with her family in happiness. She would have gone if it had not been for you, she would have been happy if it had not been for **you**_ , his mind supplied every time he saw her turn quickly from him, her mouth drawn into a thin line.

 He would visit her room, only to be denied entry by the guards. He watched the dragons enter and leave with impugnity, and that only irritated him. Loki stalked the door, watching it obsessively from the shadows. He would never see Keshaara, not when he watched. She was either in the room, or out of it, but she never passed through the doorway while he watched.

 When Fandral entered the room with the same ease the dragons did, Loki finally stopped watching, storming back to his own rooms, with his mind spitting venom. Venom he wished could be directed at anyone other than himself. He deserved this, he deserved her spurious nature, he deserved her cutting off their courtship and favoring Fandral. He deserved that but he did not _like_ it. She should be with him, she should leave Fandral and be with him, but she had made her decision clear and he had to abide by that. His mind still spun madly, and he reached for what he could to make it stop.

 Keshaara had every right to not want anything to do with him. 

 Keshaara ached to be close to him.

 Fandral would come by and visit, but they were visits of pain and agony as she tried to re-learn how to use a sword. Fandral’s gift was a handy loophole that allowed her to commission a new cane, a sword hidden in the hilt. They would not stop their drills until she was panting, and limping. She had to re-learn everything. Her magic had kept her afloat for so long, and now with _nothing_ , she had to try and learn to be an able swordswoman. She was still Loki’s Champion. She had to be able to do this, despite the pain.

 The nights were the worst part of it all. She had hoped the first night, when she had slept in the comforting curl of Loki’s arm, his heartbeat lulling her down into dreamless sleep, it had meant that the years of nightmares were finally over. With magic, the nightmares were easy to avoid. It was just a different form of illusion wrought upon herself. Without it, she found herself sleeping less and less to avoid the things that haunted her dreams. The dark circles that deepened the shadows of her eyes only grew ever darker as she shied further and further from sleep.

 Durnehviir cautioned her against it, urging her to remember what was lingering in her chest, and what had happened to the last mage to be afflicted with her ailment, knowing that she would never listen regardless. He wanted her to sleep, he wanted her to sleep long and restfully. 

 The only solace was the cloak she had stolen from Loki. When she lay in bed at night, staring at the ceiling to wait for dawn, she would hold it around her shoulders, to stave off the dreams as best she could manage. It never worked. She prayed to the Aedra and Daedra when she was particularly desperate for some manner of rest from her waking nightmares. She tried everything. She drank herself to sleep more than once, and only woke up nauseated and still seeing terror-forms dance across her vision.

 Odahviing urged her to go see Loki, because she had slept soundly with him. Maybe she just needed one more good night of sleep and they would be able to think of a way out of the mess. Just one good night of sleep and they could stop the madness.

 Keshaara did not have the heart to tell Odahviing that nothing could stop it. She had read the forbidden texts in the College. This had happened once before in recorded history, and it had resulted in the destruction of a good portion of Winterhold itself – and it would only be worse, because it was _her_ this time.

 She did not want to tell them about the other cravings, either. Let them think she avoided Loki for some petty reason. Let them think everything but the truth of it.

 She had been made to swear herself to each of the Daedra, to take their gifts and curses all within her, so as to be properly balanced and not used as a weapon in any one war. Molag Bal owned her as much as Hircine did, and without her magic, without what she had been using to keep herself sane and whole for centuries, she found the urge to bathe in blood rising. With Loki in such close proximity, and him damn near oozing magicka – magicka she could not feel or sense in any way other than a punch to the gut and an itch in her mouth and cunt.

 Keshaara was afraid that if she got to close to him like this, she may actually hurt him. Because Divines above, she wanted to pin him down and drink his blood and power back into her.

 She had banished all of her enchanted weapons and baubles from her room, ordering Odahviing to find where her axe was and store all of the magically-touched things she owned with it. The dragon did as asked, and never tried to tell her where it all was. Being near things touched by magic made her ache. There were all sorts of new emotions now tied into the darkness in her chest and she did not want to tempt them with artifacts of power.

 The absence of all of her old artifacts left her in more pain than she could have been otherwise. Heartsick, homesick, and in pain, Keshaara still did her best to be available to those around her. Except Loki.

Jane was a surprisingly good conversationalist and a bright spot in the dark days, and had done Keshaara the kindness of coming to her rooms to check on her after the trial. Keshaara greeted her after Dόmhildr announced Jane’s presence, brushing her hair down in front of her ruined eye so as to keep from being overly grotesque. Jane eventually was as constant a companion as Fandral was, though Jane supplied her with intellectual companionship more than physical. Jane would come over, and they would sip tea on her porch, overlooking all of Asgard, and talk about their homes. It was lovely.

 Keshaara looked forward to Jane’s visits as much as she could, because the Aether-bearer did not rouse any of her own innate darkness. Jane was extraordinary, and still plain. Jane soothed her otherwise aching heart for as long as she was there.

 But when she left, when Jane was gone, Keshaara was right back to where she had been. Fretting and aching and itching all over again, with no respite in sight. She wanted Loki, she wanted him to tell her it would be okay, but to be that close to him would spell danger for them both.

 It was in this state that she found herself looking over Loki’s cloak with something that veered dangerously close to outright fondness. The cloak was becoming something she could not imagine being without, and that told her that she needed to return it before she became wholly dependent on it. Besides, it had stopped smelling like Loki days ago and now really only smelled like her. That was not nearly as helpful.

  _Divines_ , did she miss Loki.

 That singular thought decided her on the next course of action. Despite the danger, she needed this. She could control herself long enough to give him his cloak back, at least. She dressed herself as best she could, pulling on a high-necked blouse, and a supple pale red skirt that covered her brace. She quickly braided her hair to the left side, letting the braid hang over her shoulder, and sweeping her bangs over her ruined eye. There was nothing she could do about her stubby fingers, but rarely did anyone look at them. Keshaara was careful to fold the cloak as best she could and grabbed her cane. Her stride was short, and it took her a while to make it to the other side of the palace.

 She noted, absentmindedly, that it was late at night. But most of her ideas came at night now. She had not sleep schedule, no rhythm, no nothing. She was a walking corpse more often than not. But there was an undeniable pep in her step now that she had resolved herself to this path. She would at least get to see Loki.

 Just for a moment. Just long enough to give him his cloak back. That was all.

 Keshaara chose to ignore the ache in her body and the itching in her fangs at the thought of him.

 The door to his rooms was just barely open, not closed all the way by the last person who passed through it. When Keshaara pushed on the door, it opened easily, and without much thought as to why the door would be left in this state, she entered the room.

 “ _Oh_.”

 Loki was bent over his desk, hard at work bringing some dark-haired minx to orgasm with his fingers in her cunt, her skirts up around her hips, and his lips pressed to her ear. The girl would have been gasping his name, she was sure, had Loki not had his other hand over her mouth.

 Keshaara watched for far too long as Loki’s long fingers pumped in and out of the woman, as his mouth moved against her neck, whispering filthy nothings, as he pinned her down on the desk. He was still clothed. Small mercy. The woman’s keening was muffled, but the string of curses that the busty wench made when she saw Keshaara standing in the doorway. Loki was slower to react, still consumed with trying to make the woman cry out against his hand.

 When he turned and saw her, Keshaara offered him a polite inclination of her head. She was certain she imagined the look of heartbreak on his face.

 “I brought your cloak back, Loki. I’m sure you’ll want to fuck _that_ whore on it too. I must be going.”

 As loathe as she was to walk further into his room, she had to place the cloak on a raised surface, and the closest table was a few more steps away. She walked as best she could, still leaning heavily on her cane. It was infinitely harder to walk now that the wind had been taken from her gait. She was, despite her internal insistence to the contrary, hurt by this turn of event.

 “Kesh-”

 There was frantic rustling as the woman fixed her clothing and her hair and hurried to make herself scarce.

 “My name is _Keshaara_ , Prince Loki. I must be going. Please, do not let my appearance have disturbed you. Apologies for the intrusion.”

 The woman fled, slamming the door behind her loud enough to make Kesh sneer. She limped back towards the door, her cane the only thing really holding her up. Her knee ached, her teeth itched, and Loki was staring at her. She could feel his gaze on her.

 “Are you going back to _Fandral_ then?” he hissed as she reached for the door. “Back to sweet, golden Fandral, to entertain him in your rooms? Back to Fandral, who whispers honey and wine but is of no substance? That is who you chose?”

 Keshaara chuckled.

 “Oh, does the Prince not like **sharing** his whores? I’m sorry, I had not known. You have no need to share me any longer then.”

 “Stop calling yourself that, you aren’t _my_ whore.”

 “Ah, but that’s not what you said before. You called me your whore. You claimed me as just that. And you are ever so bad at lying, Loki. There was no lie when you said that. You meant it. You meant for me to be your whore, despite all the pretty words and pretty gifts to prove contrary to that.”

 He was so much faster than her, and before Keshaara could turn to face him properly, he had her pinned up against the wall, his hands on her arms. Her cane clattered to the ground loudly, but Keshaara did nothing to stop him. She really couldn’t. She had no weapons and she was still his Champion.

 His face was inches from her. The volume of their argument only escalated, and she could see his rage in the curl of his lip and the blazing green of his eyes.  She did not know if she wanted to kiss him or kill him. Fury made the two emotions merge into one feeling.

 “Why did you choose Fandral?! Why, Kesh?”

 “I am not Kesh. That is not my name. Let me go, Loki.”

 “ _Keshaara_. Why _him_? Why do you seek him out, and entertain him in your rooms, when you won’t even _look_ at me?”

 “I did not pick Fandral, Loki. Our courtship ended long ago, but it was none of your business. Fandral has been busying himself with teaching me how to wield a blade now that I have no magic. I _told_ you I would take no husband, and you still felt the need to throw a false courtship at my feet to ensure I never thought to look to anyone else. I’m **just** your whore, remember?”

 He pulled her away from the wall only to slam her back against the wall again. Keshaara gasped, kicking with her good leg to try and get him to let her go.

 “Stop SAYING that!” he yelled at her, gripping her harder.

 Keshaara was quiet, staring vacantly over Loki’s shoulder. She burned with fury, but she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her truly lose it. 

 “You aren’t just a _whore_ , Keshaara. You have never been just a whore.”

 Her bark of laughter was derisive. Not just a whore.

 “You’re right. I’m not _just_ your whore. I’m the whore you got to play pretend. I’m the one who thought she was more than that. I’m the one that you could parade around. I got to be your Champion, I got to bear a child of yours, _I_ got to make believe that there was even a chance for it. I’m sure it was Frigga’s idea. To hide the one that you actually want. The one who has all her clothing in your rooms? Your favored one? I was just a good distraction, I’m sure. Brava to me, I played my part, now let me go, I have to go back to my rooms.”

 Loki stared at her, but did not let her go. Divines she just wanted to sink her fangs into his neck and make him scream her name again. One more time. She wanted to carve her name into his belly so he could never be with anyone else without having to think of her. It was petty and spiteful, but she was willing to do it just to lash out. She wanted to see him bleed because she had no other way to express the emotions inside of her.

 “Keshaara.”

 “Get the fuck off of me. I want to go back to my rooms.”

 “ **Keshaara**.”

 He was so insistent. It grated on her few remaining nerves.

 “What.”

 “Do you think that little of me?”

 His voice was small, and Keshaara looked to him, her eyes narrowed. How dare he make this about his pain? How, in all of what she said, did he take away that that was the problem? That she thought _little_ of him? She thought of him more than she cared to, and it was those damned thoughts that had brought her here in the first place. Ignorance was bliss. She should have never come.

 “You think that little of _me_ , Loki. To call me whore, to think I would do anything to debase a courtship I accepted. To assume the worst of me because I dare entertain a guest in my own room. You called me your whore, why should I not revel in my title? Consort, whore, concubine, I always knew my place – I told you that much back in Skyrim when you would have called me Queen. Never the equal, always beneath. I know where I belong.

 If you want another to entertain yourself with, have her. Have that woman whose clothing you let rest next to yours, whoever she is. I’m sure she was passing attractive and you could fetch her back with that silver tongue of yours. I am ever so sorry I had to borrow _her_ clothes. Just, don’t take me again. I cannot bear it. Let me be your Champion and nothing else, because I will not abide to be Loki’s Whore. Our courtship is done, let me be.”

 There was a long moment of silence. Loki gaped at her, his brows drawn, and his heart stuttering in his chest.

 “Please let me go.”

 Loki stared at her, and Keshaara did not meet his gaze.

 “Keshaara, I did not mean for this to happen. None of it. I just wanted you to be my Champion, I never meant to have…to have this happen to you.”

 “Let me go.”

 His hands loosened, but not enough for her to escape. He had her caged in still, his legs pressing against hers, pinning her more effectively than his grip had. Without her cane, she was horrifically off-balance, and when she grabbed his hips, it was not to keep him close, it was to keep herself from collapsing.

 “Keshaara, _please_ , I-”

 “No, Loki! Stop it. Let me go. I’m tired of this, just let me _go_.”

 She closed her eyes when he looked at her the next time, turning her head away.

 “Keshaara, I wasn’t playing a game. I was courting you in earnest and,” he continued over her starting objection. “And I meant it. I meant what I said to you in front of the entire court. Kesh, _please_ , I did not mean for you to ever think I was lying about that. I had to for the Jotuns and Svartalfar though. To keep you safe.”

 “So you could not trust me with the truth. I see. Now may I go?”

 Loki groaned, and let her go, stepping away from her to clutch at his head with both hands. He turned away from her, stepping back from the door, away from her.

 “You’re fucking _impossible_ , Kesh. I just wanted you to be safe from them because if they thought you and I were…They would have **hurt** you.”

 “Yes, and clearly, thinking me the whore of the disowned prince protected me so much better. Thank you, Loki.”

 He turned to look at her again, as she was stooping to pick up her cane. The stitches in her lips had been removed, leaving silvery scars across her skin. They were thin scars, delicate, and would fade with time. The best healers of Asgard had tended to them, just as they had done on his own scars, but that did not erase the scars that were already there.

 “I never meant that to happen.”

 “I know you didn’t. It still did.”

 There was venom in her voice that he did not expect. She bore her anger as she always had - a quiet wild-fire inside of her that threatened to burn the world down. Keshaara leaned on her cane and stared up at him, her singular good eye staring at him.

 “I _am_ sorry, Keshaara. For everything that happened to you.”

 “You really aren’t.”

 The absolutely blasé way she spat that last line stuck him in the chest. It…it _hurt_. Deeply.

 “How can you say that?”

 “Because you had to go find another woman. Because you called me whore. Because you are sorry for nothing except how I made you feel.”

 “That – that isn’t _true_.”

 He had no idea what turned the quiet wild-fire into a roaring conflagration, but Keshaara lunged at him, crossing the space between them faster than he would have thought possible in her state. She grabbed him by his collar and threw him to the ground, falling on top of him. With astounding nimbleness for someone lame in one leg, she straddled him, pinning him down beneath her. The darkness in her stirred, uncoiling and readying itself for what would come next.

 “Like _fuck_ it isn’t true. You are not sorry for how I feel, you are sorry for how my reaction is making _you_ feel. You have no real respect for me, and you don’t get to fake it because I caught you with another one of your whores.”

 “Kesh, that wasn’t wh-” The rest of his sentiment was caught up in a choking cry when she bit him.

 Her fangs were as sharp as he half-remembered and he grabbed for her shoulders to push her away. Loki could feel how smoothly the teeth sank in to his skin, and when she began to drink his blood without the heady push of her mental-magic, it _burned_. Fire raced through his blood and he screamed. Keshaara moaned her response, blood spilling out of her mouth. She withdrew her fangs only to lick the blood off of his skin, before sealing her lips over the punctures from her fangs and sucking all over again.

 “K- _Kesh_!” he gasped when she pressed her thumb into the dip of his throat and **pushed**. “Ke-esh.”

 “Shut the fuck up Loki. Just. Shut up.”

 She kissed him. He tasted his blood on her tongue and did not care because she was kissing him. Loki wrapped his arms around her waist and flipped them, pushing her to his floor and snogging her ferociously. He did not care that her fangs nicked his tongue, because his tongue was in her mouth again. She sighed when he pulled her legs wide and ground his hips against hers. He bit her neck in retaliation, and she moaned.

 “Damn it Keshaara, how did you do this to me?” he growled when she licked at his still-bleeding neck again.

 Loki picked her up, keeping her legs around his waist, supporting her ruined knee with one hand as the other cradled her ass. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him as he carried her back to his bed. When he threw her down on the bed, he took a moment to wipe the blood from his neck, thanking the Norns that he healed quickly. She had bit him deeply, and every movement of his neck made him ache.

 He looked at her, splayed on his bed, her anger still simmering beneath her, his blood painting her neck and mouth.

 Keshaara watched his blood-covered hand with rapt attention, giving Loki time to plot.

 “Oh, why did it have to be you?” he asked her, leaning down to kiss her again. His anger had left him. She could have killed him. She didn't. She bit him and choked him, but she still moaned his name and kissed him breathless and needy. 

 “It was always going to be me, Loki. Oblivion was written long before we were alive.”

 He looked at her, and she looked at his hand. Given the slightest bit of free movement, Keshaara reached for his hand and suckled on his fingers. He froze for a moment as her tongue twined the digits she had spent so long praising on so many occasions. That was surprisingly...erotic. She laved at his palm with her tongue, and Loki groaned, reaching for her hair. He wrapped her hair around his fist and pulled enough to send fractals of pain dancing across her scalp. She did not let up her worship of his hand, and he had a dastardly idea to have her attention remain on him. He had her attention, and he could not let her look anywhere but him, not now. He needed her to look at him. 

 She pulled away when he took his hand from her grasp, her eyes narrowed, but no longer vampiric red. He would have to ask her later why she was both vampire and werewolf when he thought it was impossible by the rules of Skyrim. Right now, he needed her to keep looking at him like this.

 He stripped out of his clothing, throwing them to the side of his room, leaving him only in his trousers. He did not care where his clothing fell. They smelled of that _other_ woman. The one he had thought looked like Keshaara, the one he had seduced into his room just to feel like he had her for one more moment, the one who was nothing like Keshaara but a pale enough shade that he could look at her and imagine. Keshaara was so much better. She smelled so much better. Loki pulled a knife from a hiding place, and slid the blade across the skin of his forearm in one long, smooth movement. Keshaara made a panicked sound of distress and reached for his hand, but the wound was already closing. It was a shallow cut, just barely enough to seep blood. She still slid her tongue across the length of wound, cleaning blood before it could drip.

 “Loki, why are you doing this?” she asked as he drew the blade across his chest with the same sort of fluid movement. Keshaara grasped him by the hips and traced the line with her tongue again. His blood tasted like magic and even without the vampiric urge, she still would have done the same thing to just feel magic for a few moments longer. The darkness thrummed.

 “Because I want to. Because it makes you happy,” Keshaara laughed at that, but nodded at him to continue. “Because you went through so much, the least I can handle is a little-”

 Keshaara took the knife from his hand and pulled him down into a kiss. Loki hummed happily, not minding the aftershock of pain from the two cuts. She pushed him onto his back and straddled him, leaning on her good leg more than her right leg. The tip of the knife danced up his bared torso, not hard enough at all to actually cut, but Loki was achingly aware of the lines she was drawing across his skin. 

 “If you want _me_ to cut you, ask me to. Nicely,” she whispered. “If that is how you want to apologize, then ask _me_ to.”

 Loki whimpered expectantly, looking at the knife she held just above his navel. He tilted his head up, and Keshaara kissed his throat. She sucked over the bruise from her bite, and then tilted his head to the side with the knife's edge so she could leave a matching mark on the other side of his neck, kissing at first, and then nipping, and then biting with blunted teeth, over and over and over again until Loki was writhing beneath her and there was a lovely dark bruise on his lovely pale skin.

 “Keshaara please, cut me. I’m sorry. I _never_ thought of you as my whore. I still want to court you. I still want you, I never…”

 The knife skittered across his skin before he could finish his sentence, deeper than he had cut himself, and without hesitation. It hurt, but she kissed him through the pain, cradling his chin with her other hand He gasped her name into her mouth, and she drank it down. One hand had the knife and with the other, she drew designs in his blood, dragging his blood across his chest, lifting her fingers to paint his blood down her throat and chest, staining her blouse with his blood. She could feel the magic sparkling across her skin. His magic, his blood, his life, all under her control. Keshaara needed to bathe in it, wanting to feel the magic all over again. The darkness thrummed. 

But it was silenced soon after by the sight of Loki gasping and bleeding beneath her. Who needed magic when they had him beneath them, bleeding and gasping and aching for more. Asking for more. Begging for more. He _liked_ this.

 He looked down at her handiwork when she paised and saw the language of Skyrim carved into his skin. Backwards, muddled with her doodles in his blood, he could still make out her name, and her titles, words of possession and the constellations of the Lover and Lord cut into him. She cut her desire into his skin, and he groaned as she put perfectly decorated flairs across his chest. The lines accentuated his body better than the finest clothing could ever hope to. Keshaara had done this before, used a knife as bedplay before, and Loki wished he could feel jealousy in that moment. Instead, he appreciated it. Her skill was apparent, and he wished for the chance to have her carve him like this under the flow of water so he could better appreciate her work. As it was, like this? He would be healed and hale before he could ever see what she had done. 

Her knife danced down his ribs, and he gasped. He could feel it ticking over the bones, the rise and fall as she came up and over, and then  **down** increasing the pressure exponentially until the cut was deep enough to be considered a gash. Her hand was steady the entire time, and he had no fear that she would ever actually hurt him, even as she matched the line to a mirror on the other side of his body. She gave him perfect symmetry as her work grew ever bolder and -

  _Fuck_ , he had never been so aroused by someone with a knife before.

 “I am yours, I promise, Keshaara. I swear on my blood I am yours, and yours alone,” he gasped when her blade cut deeper into his gut, re-outlining the sign for her name. The words spilled out of him without him being able to control it. Every cut was already in the process of healing, and there would be no scars by the morning, but it was still something he would forever be aware of. The pain and pleasure were incomprehensible. He could barely breathe through it, but it was exhilaration. 

 She stopped, and looked up to him.

 “Loki, did you…do you mean that?”

 “Every word. I am yours, Keshaara. Completely.”

 She swallowed, the knife hanging delicately from her hand. He shifted beneath her, the rush of adrenaline demanding that he try and have her bladework dance across him again. She had carved her name into his flesh, did she honestly think that he would belong to anyone but her?

 “In some places, that is counted as a proposal,” she said hesitantly, careful to try and keep the hopefulness out of her voice. Loki would not seriously –

 “I meant it as one. I am yours. Would you be mine?”

 She looked down at the bloody mess she had made of his chest, not particularly perturbed about it all. He was healing, his blood sang and he was looking at her with a wide, open stare. His pupils were black pits rimmed in electric green and she could feel his cock pressing up against her. His heart beat slowly under her hand. Keshaara’s own pulse raced, as she tried to understand what in their argument had led them here, with his chest cut open and bleeding, proposing to her. Her name was cut into him, but she had not expected this. 

 “I never gave you your court-gift.”

 “There is time for gifts unending later. Asgardian wedding customs tend to end with huge piles of gifts.”

 Her breath caught.

 “Skyrim weddings aren’t initiated without an amulet of Mara, and you have none.”

 It was the only thing she could think to say, a half-joke that fell flat.

 “You could carve one in to me," he said, gesturing to the empty, uncut space just underneath his throat. "I don’t plan on ever needing to wear one ever again.”

 “I need one as well.”

 “I can carve you, then.”

Keshaara made a whimpering sound in the back of her throat, and for a moment, Loki thought it was one of dissent, but when she rolled her eyes back and grinned, he realized his error. If she was the one under his knife, she would feel just as he did. 

_Fuck_ that was enough to make him seriously consider using his magic to tie her down and spend his entire night showing her what he could do with his knives. She was good. He was so much better.

“You are serious,” she said, her voice heady with arousal.

 “Serious enough to let you sit on top of me with a knife and cut your name into my stomach, and then flay my skin in the shape of your amulet, yes. I will not lose you, Keshaara.”

 He reached up to brush her hair out of her mangled eye, and smiled at her. _Beamed_ at her. He meant it. The moment he had been waiting for was here, and he could no longer imagine a moment more perfect for it.

 “Then I accept, Loki. You and **all** your stupidity, are all mine now. I will not flay you, though. Not yet. That can wait until after we’ve said Asgard’s vows and only if you still want something so permanent,” her voice dipped into her native tongue for the last sentence. “<A life lived alone is no life at all, but I am yours, and yours and yours again from now until the end of all things.>”

 She was careful to toss the knife behind her as she leaned back down to kiss him again. It would do, as far as a Riften-marriage would be concerned. No priest of Mara was here to make sure the words were said properly or blessed. The Divines were far from here, but she could still say the words. Loki reached up to her, pulling her over his body to lay her onto the bed and kissed her sweetly. This was his affianced woman. He was her affianced man. They belonged. (He bled onto her)

 His hands wandered down her still-clothed body to push her shirt up on her stomach. Scars and tattoos greeted his graze, and he bent down to press a kiss to her hipbones, each in turn. Keshaara pulled herself up higher on his bed, until her head was resting against his pillows. Blood still painted her hands and neck and mouth, but it was drying and starting to flake off of her. His stomach and sides and chest ached from the cuts, but they no longer seeped ichor. He had perhaps taxed his healing body by letting her go so far, but it did not matter. They would not scar, and within days, she would have a clean canvas to paint his blood across allover again.

 Keshaara was his. He had said the words, and she had said them back to him. They belonged together.

 When he pulled her shirt off of her, she made only token protestations, not particularly pleased about not being consulted about the action in advance. But she did not shy away from his questing fingers as he traced her old scars. They were part of her, and he would come to find them lovely in time. The tattoos she had hidden were long, geometric designs, similar to the ones he had seen on the armor of others in Skyrim. The marks of self-hatred that stretched across her wrists, he kissed, sad that she had endured so much alone. He wished she had not been alone for so long, but in the end, they had found each other again.

 He leaned up to kiss her hair and pulled her close to him. She was _his_. Keshaara huffed at him, and kicked her boots off.

 “I hope you realized you’re going to be moving in to my room. I cannot stand all this green and gold. It’s tacky,” she mumbled into his neck as he pulled the blankets of his bed over the both of them.

 “Yes, dear,” he said, his voice dripping sarcasm.

 “Obnoxious tit. Keep talking like that and I will go build us a house somewhere impossible. I’ll make sure the second stair to the second floor wobbles and you will never see a comfortable mattress again.”

 Loki laughed, remembering the fantasy she had shown him. That was hers as much as his, and now it was theirs. Their anger had bled out in his blood and an admittedly awful proposal.

 “Only if I get to fuck you pregnant with my children again.”

 Keshaara stiffened in his arms, and for a moment, Loki was afraid he had overstepped. She was still for a few seconds until she shook her head, and curled back into his arms, pressing herself against him and snuggling him close.

 “Fine, I suppose I can agree to that. After we have observed the appropriate customs here. I doubt Frigga will allow me that sort of freedom with her son.”

 Loki chuckled and nuzzled her hair again, reveling in the feeling that welled up in his chest.

 “Just so, Kesh.”

 “Ass,” she retorted to her…betrothed.

 He held her close, under his sheets, safe in his room, thoughts of all else forgotten. She was his, he was hers, and for tonight, all of the Nine Realms orbited them.


	38. Saman

The Tale of the Dragon ~~born~~

The Tale of the Jotun Prince

* * *

 

 

When Keshaara woke up in the morning, she was well-rested, finally. She was so happy. Loki and her were hopelessly entwined with each other, legs and limbs wrapped together. His face was buried in her hair, and he was humming some nonsense lullaby beneath his breath. Keshaara stayed still for a few moments longer, enjoying the moment.

 “Kesh, I know you’re awake, dear.”

 “Shut up.”

 She looked up to him, her eyes still bleary with sleep. He looked down at her, smiling happily. Keshaara wrinkled her nose at him, and he kissed the very tip of her nose in response. It was a soft moment, one she hoped she could remember for as long as possible. She leaned up to kiss him properly, smiling when he kissed her back.

 Loki brushed hair out of her face, his eyes tracking the movement of his hands. Keshaara allowed the attention, relishing it more than she had ever done before. He twined her hair in his fingers, letting the locks knot around his finger. He liked the feeling. Keshaara reached up to mirror his movement, twisting his black hair around her own fingers.

 She used her new grip on him to pull him close enough to press a hungry kiss to his mouth. He reciprocated lustfully, kissing her fervently. Keshaara gasped under the feeling, but did not pull away. No, she pressed closer, hooking one of her legs over his hips and twisting so that she ended up straddling him.

 “Mmm, Kesh?”

 “Keshaara. The first time we fuck as husband and wife, you should at least call me by my full name.”

 “We aren’t married yet, _dearest_ wife,” he purred up at her.

 Her hair fell in a curtain around them both, shrouding them in intimacy. Loki ran his fingers through her hair, smiling still.

 “Oh, well then excuse me. Good sir, I appear to be in the wrong bed. See, I was intending to suck my husband’s cock until he came in my mouth and let me taste him…and then let him fuck me into his headboard until it breaks. But since I seem to have no husband, I suppose I just will have to satisfy myself in otherwi-”

 Loki’s groan broke through her diatribe, and he closed his eyes against the words. He reached for her, but Keshaara batted his hands away, gaining herself a soft chuckle from the man beneath her.

 “Nu-uh, only my husband gets to touch me like that. See, you’re just someone in my bed. My husband would get to bend me over the edge of his bed and fuck me until he came hard enough to see stars. My husband would get to press his lips against my cunt and lick me until _I_ came hard enough to forget all words other than his name. My husband has so many things to look forward to after he comes back to my room – _our_ room. My husband will have the sublime ability to pull me into whatever dark corner of the palace he wants to yank my skirts up around my hips, push my face into the wall and fuck me. My husband will get to spend his day knowing that his cum is leaking down my leg, or if he prefers, he could plug me up, filling me over and over and over again.”

 Loki writhed beneath her, smirking all the while. He did like this, and while her dirty, sweet nothings were not fantasies he had ever denied having, it was a delicious sort of torture to hear them outlined by Keshaara’s sleep-roughed voice.

 Keshaara leaned down and nibbled the lobe of his ear, and Loki’s thoughts scattered as her voice dropped to a husky whisper.

 “My husband will get to make sweet, all-night love to me. He will hold me and love me, and fuck me. My husband will tie me to the bed and spend all night teasing me, taunting me with rope and whip and knife if he so desires. My husband will be tied down to my bed and I will spend hours edging him. He will be tied down, tied up, denied his release and made to beg. My husband will cry out for release and I will give it to him only when he sobs for it. I will bleed him and he will bleed me.”

 She nipped at the bruises she had already left on his neck, and he gasped expectantly, pulling her flush to him. He flexed his hips to grind up against her, but Keshaara was well-schooled enough to keep her voice steady. Her breath came in heated pants against his ear, and he could not really help the delighted wriggle that shook through him.

 “My husband has a magic of clones and I am sure he would love to watch me get fucked by those clones, wouldn’t he? He could sit in ease as I took his replicas into me, watch me from the bed like he had watched my first husband all those years ago. He could watch me, so desperate to please him that I would take him over and over and over again, uncaring of how tired I would be, so consumed would I be with pleasing him. I imagine he would keep me so occupied for hours, if he wanted.”

 Loki groaned. He did so love using his clones for things – menial tasks, especially. Not that Keshaara was a menial task to tend to, nor that her pleasure was anything but the highest of priorities to him, but oh, the thought of her on her knees, filled to the brim with him in every one of her holes, making her choke on his very essence until she could handle no more and begged him to stop, and then he could banish the clones and take her himself, fuck her voiceless and boneless.

 “Sadly, though, I suppose you aren’t my husband. A pity. I would have enjoyed it. I suppose I should go and try and find him then.”

 Loki growled and rolled, tangling them in the sheets, and pinning her hands above her head.

 “You aren’t going anywhere, _Keshaara_.”

 “Oh _there_ my husband is,” Keshaara sing-songed at him, leaning up to kiss him on the corner of his lips.

 “Not yet, I’m not your husband _yet_. We still have to go through the gestures. It will be a month before I can call you wife.”

 Keshaara looked up at him, her brows furrowed. Her apparent confusion was enough to stop the clever words on his tongue.

 “A _month_?”

 “Yes. It takes a while to prepare everything. Was that not how it worked in Skyrim?”

 “Loki, I proposed to Farkas one day, we went down to Riften the next, and we were married by sundown. He moved his things from Jorrvaskr into Breezehome, and that was it.”

 Loki stared.

 “You’re serious.”

 “Yes? The whole marriage took maybe five minutes, we had honey-cake with our friends, and then walked back home.”

 “That was all?”

 “Yes. Loki, weddings were a convenience, therefore they needed to _be_ convenient.”

 He blinked at her, still struggling with the speed of the marriage.

 “So a Riften marriage is…what?”

 “I got an amulet of Mara from the priest of Mara in Riften, walked back to Whiterun, walked up to Farkas, he commented on the amulet in a way that expressed interest in the fact that I was wearing it, when pressed, he agreed that marrying me would not be an awful waste of time, we walked to Riften, bought another amulet for him, the priest said a few words, we said some words, everyone applauded and congratulated us, we ate cake, we went home. Convenient.”

 Loki looked at her askance, trying to ferret out the lie or joke in her words, but there was none to be found. Keshaara was telling the truth, entirely.

 “No, we’re not doing that. You are going to be my wife, and my wife will be given the utmost of all weddings. I will drape you in gold and sweep my cloak over your shoulders. You will have all of the riches I can muster lain at your feet, and every last modicum of ceremony that a woman as fine as my wife deserves.”

 Keshaara stared at Loki, her mouth half-open. He spoke with such conviction that she believed him, but she did not still think it was necessary.

 “But Odin is still upset with you an-”

 “Frigga adores you, she will make sure the wedding is spectacular for you.”

 Well there was no arguing that, at least. So Keshaara nodded her acceptance and Loki swept down to press kisses to her lips. With a smile, Keshaara returned the affections, struggling weakly against Loki’s grip on her wrists. He nipped at her lip, lightly at first, and then sucked hard enough to bruise. Keshaara gasped, arching beneath him. With the sheets wrapped around them both, there was no way to really fight against his ministrations.

 He returned her affections exactly as she had given them to him. He panted into her ear, nibbling and sucking and licking her neck. Loki bit her throat gently, soothing the harsh ministration with soft kisses afterwards. He did not stop until she was making soft mewls of desperation and trying to struggle against the confinements of the sheets.

 “Oh, now, _Kesh_ , have I not told you what I plan to do with my wife yet? How could I be so remiss?”

 Keshaara moaned and arched her back. Loki buried his face in her neck and bit down hard enough for him to taste her coppery blood. She keened, trying to pull her arms out of his grasp.

 “ _Loki!_ ”

 “Mm, that is my name, pet. I want to hear it drip from your lips as I plunge into your depths with my tongue. My wife, oh, the time I will spend devoted to you. My wife, I will worship every inch of your being with my tongue and cock. I will make you weep with pleasure. I will make you scream my name. I will tie you down and carve you as well as you carved me,” Keshaara moaned, long and low as she arched up into him and Loki swore, snapping his hips down to hers.

 “Fucking _Hels_ Kesh, I cannot wait to fuck you at my own leisure. I cannot wait to show you everything I want to do for you. To you. With you. Norns and Divines both, you are **mine**.”

 “All _yours_ , Loki,” Keshaara agreed breathlessly, arching beneath him again.

 “I have half a mind to take you now, Keshaara Dovahkiin. Right now, in my bed. Pin your arms above your head and fuck you.”

 She moaned her agreement, shivering beneath him.

 “But we have things to do, and I cannot spend my day making you scream my name again, despite how sweet it sounds when you do so. Another day, my pet.”

 Keshaara whined, but did not object as Loki extracted himself from his sheets. She was slower than he was at getting out of the bed, her leg stiff from this hip down. Loki did not seem to notice until she made a small sound of discomfort. He turned, and immediately dropped down to a knee to help pull the sheets from her leg. His chest was still a motley of dried blood and almost-healed scabs, but that did not stop his movement or alter how he moved. If there was pain, he did not show it.

 “I’m sorry, I forgot Kesh.”

 “It’s okay. I just got a little stiff, is all,” she rasped, standing with his help.

 Loki placed a hand gently on the small of her back and steadied her as best he could as she found her balance again. He did not rush her, and when she started walking, he was quick to guide her to a wall.

 “I’ll go get your cane, it should still be by the door, wait here darling.”

 Keshaara rolled her eyes at his back. She was going to have to have the same talk with Loki as she had had with Farkas it seemed. Apparently men, upon being faced with marriage, turned into pet-naming little sycophants. Not that she minded, really. When Loki purred “darling” or “dearest” at her, her stomach felt like it flipped over and there was a surge of acute…happiness that lanced through her.

 But it was unbecoming to change so quickly.

 She ambled back towards his massive closet, intending to find something else to wear other than her blood-stained blouse and skirt. Again, she saw the women’s clothing, and again, a sharp lance of fury rushed through her. He still had not gotten rid of these. Was the other still around, then? What did any of this mean?

 “Loki, whose are these?” she asked, loud enough for Loki to hear from the other part of his expansive rooms.

 “…Mine, Kesh. They’re…mine.”

 There was something odd in Loki’s voice, an unfamiliar cadence and lilt that she was not used to hearing. Perhaps that was merely her ears playing tricks on her because of the strange confession. She had heard him correctly, but his voice sounded…different. Keshaara turned, and –

 “Oh by _the Nine_.”

 There was a woman, with green eyes, and black hair. Keshaara looked at her, careful to look over every inch of her. She was wearing Loki’s clothing…she _was_ Loki. Loki looked just as delicious in this form as she…he? did when he…she was in the other body.

 “Loki, this is you?”

 “Yes, it, it is.”

 Keshaara reached out a hand, and Loki took it. She wished she had her magic to see if it was a true thing, the skin he wore now, but when Loki touched her, she knew it immediately to still be her affianced.

 Loki flinched when she ran her fingers up her arm, but was quick to steel herself against the emotion. Keshaara touched her fingers, whole and broken, to the side of Loki’s face, and when Loki covered her hand with one of her own, Keshaara stepped closer, looking up at Loki.

 “It _is_ you _._ Loki, you are _beautiful_.”

 Keshaara felt Loki stiffen, and made a soft shushing sound.

 “Loki, you are. I don’t think there is any being in these Realms or my own who could match you. May I kiss you, my betrothed?”

 Loki looked at her, brows furrowed, and beautiful lips pursed in an expression Keshaara knew all too well. This was Loki, still. Loki, however they presented, was still hers, and Keshaara found it easy to acknowledge her feelings for this form of her betrothed as the ones she had experienced before. It was still Loki. And that was really all that mattered. All thoughts of her jealousy over a woman who never existed as a threat vanished when Loki nodded.

 Kissing Loki when he was _she_ was so astoundingly the _same_ that Keshaara smiled into the kiss, not minding that when she wrapped an arm around Loki’s waist that the waist felt different, or that there was another pair of breasts pressed against her own. It was Loki, and Loki was still not the first woman Keshaara had ever kissed.

 “Keshaara, I…I didn’t-”

 Loki had started speaking before Keshaara was done with the kiss. Keshaara sighed and butted her forehead against Loki’s.

“Loki, it does not bother me. You could have told me earlier, I would have been more understanding.”

Loki sighed and held Keshaara close. Loki’s body shifted, and he was himself once again. Keshaara delighted in the feel of his body changing under her hands, and beamed at his once-again-familiar face. She did not care a whit that he had hidden this from her because the awe-inspiring breadth of his magic had struck her and would not be ignored.

 “I…most people don’t care for that sort of magic.”

 “I am not most people. I am the Archmage of Winterhold, a battlemage and I am not from here. I have heard what people said when they said you took another form, but I had not comprehended until now. You’re a shapechanger. That’s a skill of magic that few can claim, and you have it. It is astounding, my husband-wife.”

 Loki laughed, the sound tinged with nervousness. He fretted over something in her words, taking a moment to collect his thoughts before speaking again. 

 “Keshaara, I am your husband, even when I am in a woman’s form.”

 “As you say, then, Loki. Do you think you have anything I can wear? These clothes are rather dirtied, I believe, and I do not think walking out of your room covered in blood is necessarily a good way to introduce the rest of the court the fact that we are betrothed.”

 Loki laughed again, this time happily and with great warmth. He held her close to him, hugging her tightly.

 “Of course, my wife. What is mine, is yours.”

 “And mine, yours,” Keshaara replied.

 Loki hummed something she could not catch, and turned her towards his wardrobe. He kept his hands in place on her hips, and rested his chin on her shoulder, just enough so that she felt the pressure, and not so much that he risked overburdening her knee. Keshaara turned her head to nuzzle his face, and kiss the corner of his mouth.

 “I’m sure something of mine will fit you, Kesh. Let us get dressed, and we can go speak with Frigga about the preparations that need to be made. She will be thrilled to get to dote over you.”

 “Your mother loves to dote on you too, do not pretend, Loki. She loves you with her entirety and I know for a fact that she will fuss over you as much as she does for me.”

 Loki had no snappish reply, and said nothing as Keshaara dressed in his clothes. Green looked divine on her, and he had fine skirts that she could, and did, choose to wear. So, after the minimal amount of struggling with the layers of clothing that came with the outfit she had chosen for herself, Keshaara stood in resplendent emerald and gold finery, leaning on her cane and looking up at her affianced. Loki’s breath caught in his chest. She wore his clothing so well that he doubted he would ever be able to wear that particular outfit again without feeling drab in comparison.

 The very designs he had wanted to accentuate his body did the same thing for hers, and even though the frame beneath the clothing was different from his own, it still fit to her body better than he would have anticipated.

 “You are beautiful, Kesh.”

 “You have an eye for your colors.”

 Loki smiled, but did not deny it. It was an old statement-and-return between the two of them now, and he realized that she had always been right. He liked seeing his colors on her. He offered her his arm, careful to stand on the side that she was not holding her cane on, and gallantly walked her to the door. Together, they walked out into the palace of Asgard, Keshaara’s hand on his arm, Loki’s clothing on Keshaara, and not a thought between them as to what could possibly happen next.

 There was only happiness in that moment.

 In the end, that was what would matter.


	39. Ófadnaðr

The Tale of the Dragonborn

The Tale of the Jotun Prince

* * *

 

 

It took only a few moments for her to recognize something wrong in the air. She was happy but minutes before, a hand on Loki’s arm, walking alongside him. People talked, people smiled, people frowned, but it did not matter. Loki and her were _obviously_ a couple. She was _obviously_ wearing his colors and his clothing in his style, and he smiled down at her with more openness and adoration than anyone had ever seen on his face.

When he leaned down to kiss her, she returned the gesture, smiling at him. She was happy.

She should have known better than to be happy.

 Her instincts, a dastardly mix of sense and apprehension nagged her. Something was wrong. Keshaara looked to Loki. It was not that. Loki was fine, there was no danger there. What could it be then?

 She got her answer moments later, when the palace rocked on its foundations, courtesy of a concussive boom. Screams followed soon after. Keshaara and Loki both rushed to the nearest window, to look out over Asgard and see an army attacking. The Dark Elves had come to Asgard. Flying ships arced through the air, and Keshaara could not comprehend them. Dragons, she understood. These things, she did not understand. But they were attacking the gleaming golden spires of Asgard, ripping them down, dropping attackers down on the unsuspecting public.

 For a few seconds, nothing happened. It was as if the entire world held its breath. Loki’s armor appeared, wrapping around him out of nothingness, and he turned to her, grasping her by her upper arms and holding her close. There was not much time -

 “Kesh, I-”

 “Loki, go, Sif and the Warriors Three are going to need the assistance of a battlemage. I’ll go with Dόmhildr and any guards I can rally to help people evacuate the palace. _Go_.”

 He looked at her, his brows drawn down and his mouth half-open with words he had forgotten hanging off his lips. Keshaara leaned up to kiss him, her cane momentarily forgotten. A heavy feeling had settled in her stomach, and when she started to draw away, he pulled her flush against him and kissed her harder, the edges of his helm digging into her cheeks. When he finally pulled away, there was a blush on Keshaara’s cheeks and she swore there was a tear dusting the corner of Loki’s eyes.

 But he was turning away, looking to where the fighting was, his magic curling around him. Keshaara watched him leave, clutching her cane tightly. His cape flared dramatically as he stormed away from her, and she wished her stomach did not drop with worry when she thought of what was coming.

 She had to do something though, and she could not let herself be consumed by her worry. She had a task, she had given it to herself, and the smallfolk would need someone to guide them. Keshaara was almost certain that most Asgardians of any youth had never seen battle on this scale, and sometimes all people really needed was someone to give them a direct command.

 Keshaara turned, and caught the attention of the nearest guard with a rap of her cane on his chest.

 “Gather the civilians. There is an evacuation underway as of now. Get your fellow guardsmen over here and start getting them out of here.”

 The guard stared at her, a half-sneer touching his lips. The other guards in the area looked nervously at him, clearly expecting some sort of altercation to arise out of this. She had just kissed ex-Prince Loki and was clearly wearing his colors. Loki was by no means loved in Asgard still, and clearly this guard thought little of the maimed Champion.

 “I said _now_ ,” she growled, her voice heavy enough with power to shake the rafters.

 She had the pleasure of watching the color drain from his face, and he jumped to do as she had asked. Ladies and handmaidens and housecarls alike were quickly urged from their rooms to follow long-disused paths through the core of the Palace. The palace had been built in times of strife, and even if the hidden doors moved on rusted hinges, they still moved. Keshaara moved along slower, staying towards the tail of the group, limping heavily. She was moving too fast for her injured knee, and the pain had started to amplify to truly uncomfortable levels.

 But she had to protect these people. The palace would shudder every so often as something struck the walls, and the open architecture did nothing to muffle the screams of the general populace. Keshaara ached for her magic. She could do _something_ if she just had her magic.

  ~~The darkness stirred, uncurling and waiting for the moment. The paths had been dug, the blood had been corrupted and now all it needed was just a _chance_.~~

 Most of the Palace staff, and lesser nobility were evacuated, and Keshaara was standing guard with the last few remaining armored men, when her neck prickled again. Instinct never led her wrong, and the rasp of drawn steel was all the warning she needed.

 Her cane came up to catch the blade of the dark elf who had snuck up on the group. With a twist she had practiced countless times with Fandral, she released the delicate mechanism keeping her blade hidden in her cane. The sword came free, and Keshaara spitted the shocked elf on the blade, sneering in its face as she watched the light fade from its eyes. ~~This was what she wanted. Fear and death. Mastery and dominion.~~

 She shook the elf off her blade, turning to the shocked guards, who watched her with renewed apprehension.

 “Where there is one, there’s more! Get the rest of evacuees down that hole and _seal it_ , do you hear me? No one gets past you. You’re guards for a reason, now stop staring and do your job!”

 The guards jumped, but did as she said. Keshaara was thrilled. The power was intoxicating. They were right to do what she said, they were right to begin to fear her. That was what she needed. ~~She needed their fear. They _should_ fear her and her power. ~~

 She looked to the guards, rushing to do her bidding.

 Keshaara shook her head, dispelling the thoughts. She had to make sure as many people as possible survived this assault. No more elves were easily seen, but that meant nothing. The Palace was the obvious, and best target, what with all of the high-ranking nobility in –

 Her heart sank.

 The Queen. Frigga, she had yet to see Frigga, and there was precious little time before the escape route would be sealed. Keshaara did not know how much time they had, but she knew that she had to do her best to make sure that the High Queen escaped. That was always the most important thing in any case of an attack on the Palace. The High Queen needs to be protected. The High Queen, always the Queen. In times of war, the Queen units and protects. The King should be fighting already – if Odin was worthy of his title, he was already out there fighting.

 But that still left Frigga and –

 “ _Jane_.”

 Jane had said that she was staying near Frigga. The High Queen was the most skilled mage, Jane had said, and staying near Frigga helped keep the Aether in control. Jane was a conduit, a bearer of a power beyond comprehension, and needed to be protected. The Dark Elves had come, first, for Jane according to what the human had said, then for the Tesseract when they thought they could get it through Loki, and now, they had attacked Asgard properly. They were going to try and steal Jane, and any collateral damage they inflicted was just a bonus.

 Keshaara would have done the same if she was trying to attack.

 She did not know what it meant that she thought like an attacker. She only knew that she had to protect Jane and Frigga. The Palace was shaking on a more constant basis now, courtesy of multiple strikes from the attacking elves. Their huge flying ships were blasting something similar to magic, rending walls and battlements like they were wet paper.

 That would not stop her. She had to protect the other two women who had shown her friendship in her overlong stay in Asgard.

 Keshaara stalked towards the High Queen’s tower. The Palace was massive, and she had only been in the High Queen’s rooms on the few occasions that had been needed to discuss the courtships and rituals pertaining to such. Keshaara had wished she had spent more time with the High Queen before now. Keshaara wished for a lot of things, not the least of which was to have Loki by her side, instead of fighting with the other warriors. She wished for her magic, magic enough to sense him, to know he was safe.

 Battles were never easy on those who had someone to lose.

 This was the first time she had ever…her heart ached with worry. Loki could be hurt.

 Keshaara shook the thoughts away and set her pace to be even more punishing. She half-jogged, half-limped through the devastated palace, trying to shove the nagging feelings of doubt and worry deep down inside of her. She needed to do what was expected of someone named by destiny. She had to ignore the agony in her knee, the feeling of thousands of shards of glass shattering behind her kneecap again, she had to do better than she was capable of doing. She could not fail.

 The climb to Frigga’s tower-room was infinitely more difficult with her leg lamed. The gentle rise of the slope, and the stairs, especially, caused her nothing but misery, but she had to get to Frigga and Jane – the two women who were the most important non-combatants in all of Asgard. The Queen and the bearer of the Aether. Keshaara needed to protect them. That was her duty, it always had been. Protect, serve.

 Sounds of battle reached her ears before anything else. In the sinking way people know something bad was about to happen, Keshaara felt that she was moments away from something very, very bad. The doors to Frigga’s rooms were heavy, but Keshaara bulled through them as best she could, stumbling as her knee hit a part of the door carving on the way in. Her stooped posture saved her life as a dark elf swung his dagger at where her neck would have been. Keshaara dropped to her knee and thrust her sword up through its throat. Blood slicked her blade, her hand, her sleeve. Loki’s sleeve.

 It was hard to stand, but she managed, pulling herself up with the assistance from the door. Keshaara looked around the ruined room, and saw dead bodies littering the normally pristine room. The smell of magic was in the air, acrid and sharp, but Keshaara couldn’t see Frigga anywhere.

 “Frigga?” Keshaara called into the blood-drenched room, holding tight to her sword as pain wracked her.

 There was a breathy gasp from near the window, and Keshaara rushed towards the sound, kicking bodies out of the way. She had only missed the assault by minutes, apparently. Blood was still freshly dripping from the wounds of the dead elves that surrounded her, and a few gasped as she passed. Keshaara stabbed those that twitched, not wanting to let anyone sneak up on her while she investigated the noise.

 “Keshaara.”

 The whisper was almost too soft for Keshaara to hear it, but she whipped her head to the side to find the noise, and saw Frigga clutching her hands over a still-bleeding wound in her chest. Keshaara threw her sword down and knelt next to the Queen, covering Frigga’s hands with her own. Blood leaked from the Queen’s heart in slow, steady pulses.

 Keshaara did not need to turn Frigga onto her side to know that the wound went all the way through – a powerful strike with a heavy weapon that would have had to break through bone to get through everything inside Frigga. She really only had to look at the amount of blood seeping from the Queen to know it was a mortal wound. Asgard could not lose its Queen, not like this.

 There was no chance to fetch a healer, and Keshaara could tell that her knee was shot to hell. She would not be able to get to the healing rooms, even if the healers had been there. Frigga was dying.

  ~~If she just had a little more strength, maybe she could save her.~~

 Keshaara looked down at Frigga, who was mouthing something breathlessly, soundlessly, looking up to Keshaara with her eyes wide. Keshaara could feel the magic in the air, and knew that she had lost a battle she had been fighting ever since her duel with Paarthurnax. Frigga’s magic was alluring, a intoxicating promise of power that was mere hairsbreadths from her skin. Part of her wanted that magic bad enough to reach for it. She had to protect the Queen, and that meant sacrifice.

 Sacrifice.

  _Sacrifice_.

 Again, Keshaara was lain at the feet of the impossible, and told she must put her head upon the executioner’s block for the good of a country that was never hers. Frigga’s lips still moved, forming words still unknowable to Keshaara, and Keshaara reached inward. The darkness she had first been made aware of when Hel’s skin touched her own, the darkness of a secret the Mage’s College of Winterhold would kill before letting her reveal, the darkness born of secrets and powers too great for a single body, began to react.

 The rush of magic through her made abused body made her flush, and for a moment, Keshaara hovered in indecision, her hands covered in the Queen’s blood, but her mind miles away, back in Mundus, where Winterhold still bore the scars of the last mage who took too much within them. She shook her head, and let the magic flow through her, into the Queen. The familiar golden light sprang to life at her fingertips and within moments, the grievous wound was healed cleanly, leaving Frigga staring up at Keshaara, her mouth wide.

 “Keshaara…Keshaara, you-”

 “Please, I cannot…I don’t have time to…for this. I…I have to…I can’t…Frigga please…Loki. Protect him. All of them.”

 Keshaara saw the pain more than felt it. Her left arm was splitting open, blood seeping from long fractures in her skin, and beneath the blood, blue again. The darkness was ~~winning~~ inside of her, a clawing chasm of raw power, needing to be released, not pleased with being contained in a single form, a single mortal coil, not wanting to do anything than _explode_.

 This had happened once, in Winterhold. Once, in millennia past, a mage had overstretched, using the power of a relic far beyond the understanding of anyone in Skyrim, and had been consumed into it. The mages had done their best to keep the secret of exactly what had caused the destruction of the larger portion of Winterhold, but when half of a Hold goes missing, it does cause a stir. Those that knew anything were either killed or silenced with magic. Because they could not have it known that a mage that uses magic beyond their own limits, magic that delves into the infinite (if she had known, that day in Winterhold when she had debated with her friends, Keshaara would have never brought the topic up), bad things happen. Bad. Things. The magic lives, breathes, desires…and craves to be used.

 Infinity is too much energy to disperse safely, and so, the mage…exploded. Taking half the damned Hold with him.

 Keshaara had shared her worries with Durnehviir when she first felt the deep vastness yawning in the space where she would have sworn her heart and lungs were, and he merely stared at her. When he blinked, and turned away, Keshaara finally had enough clarity to see what Durnehviir must have seen as well.

 The Tesseract, or what had contained its own infinity, was dead. It had fallen to the grass beside her, dull and empty. The Tesseract was like the Aether, like Jane had been talking to her about. It sought a form that would let it be _used_ , and an Archmage? That would work just **fine** for the needs of a wellspring of magic. What she had thought was mage rot was a symptom of something much worse.

 And now, as Keshaara watched magic seep from her bones into the air, she knew that she had become the most dangerous thing to Asgard, and the most dangerous thing to its attackers as well. The darkness turned to blistering light in her chest, and she could feel the fractures in her skin splitting ever higher. Bright, pulsing blue lived beneath her flesh now, magic in its purest form. The Tesseract was magic, and mental prowess, and it sought only to expand itself. From the box to a more suitable form. From this form to another, and another, and another, until all things existed within it. It was magic, and magic _consumed_.

 Her thoughts spiraled down into the brightness; she could not force comprehension when she comprehended _all_. She tried to speak, and knew her words could not communicate the enormity of what was wrong. She had so much to say. Final words should be taken quite seriously, and she could hear the death’s knell already, rattling around in her mind as the Tesseract – Infinity of Mind – sought to consume everything.

 At one time, she had been strong enough to battle it back, to force it to her whims, to conquer the consumption by supplying an overabundance of emotion in return, at one time she would have been able to fight this splitting back, but there was nothing left in her. All of her power was gone, she was nothing more than a…being, now.

 Keshaara, Dovahkiin, was tired.

 Keshaara, Infinity Vessel, was awakening.

 She blinked once, and the world around her changed. Not as much as it could have, but the bodies were gone, as was the stink of spilled blood. The room was as it had been, and Frigga was unharmed. Keshaara duly noted she had regained vision in her left eye, but that seemed inconsequential. The sounds of battle from the outer portion of Asgard had her attention more than anything else.

 She had no recollection of getting from Frigga’s room to the front steps of the Palace, where the Warriors Three and Sif were battling with Dark Elves, but she was there. Power curled around her, magic sparkled in her vision, and the elves were handled. There was no rush of fire, or crack of thunder. They were handled. No more. Gone. The assembled fighters looked to her, first with relief, then fear.

 She liked fear better.

 The skies were heavy with attacking ships, and Keshaara knew better than to engage with them directly. There were better things to do with her energy than rise up against the ships on her own. More fortuitous, more…satisfying things. She turned eyes that burned blue to the heavens, and called for the dovah. She was Thuri. It was her right.

 She was made to rule. Her very soul craved this. She was _Thuri_. It was _right_.

 

* * *

 

“Loki! Junsekrah!”

 The dragon approaching him did the honor of not calling him by the fullest of names, but it was enough to get Loki’s attention. There were no _living_ dark elves in the vicinity, so he could offer Durnehviir the full attention he deserved. He had separated himself from the Warriors Three and Sif, out of habit and general disregard for how the four of them fought. There was more to Asgard than just the main steps of the palace.

 “Loki, we have a problem, and I need you to listen to me carefully.”

 There was a high-pitched whine in the air, and the bodies of the elves that had been killed stirred, green magic flickering around their wounds.

 Durnehviir grabbed Loki by the elbow and forcibly pulled him back and away, hissing words in Dov faster than Loki could translate.

 “Our problem has grown. What did Keshaara tell you of her illness? Quickly, now!”

 “That her arm may need to be taken, that magicka was building up inside of it and it was burning her,” Loki said, his eyes on the dead that had so clearly spooked the half-dead dragon

 “She was right then, she is incorrect, now. She is afflicted by something much worse. The artifact she used to transform herself never left her flesh. Much like the Lady Jane, who bears the Aether and Power, Keshaara now houses the…she said once that your mother had called it the Tesseract, she holds it in her body similarly. But unlike the Aether that slumbers, the Tesseract lives and breathes. It is mind, and magic.”

 The bodies stirred, moving jerkily back to their feet and turning towards some unseeable presence. Loki could feel the magic in the air, settling on the back of his neck and seeking a weakness anywhere. There was none found, and the magic moved on, but it still hung heavy in the air around him.

 “I do not understand.”

 “Keshaara is losing herself. The Tesseract lives within her, and it is taking her body, and all within it, for itself. We thought we could work around this, we thought we had time, and that keeping her away from you was the best choice. Your magic and hers are incredibly reactive together, and we could not risk the Tesseract finding some small thread of magic to take a hold of. We could not lose both of you. If one falls, the other…”

 Durnehviir looked away, his human face not masking emotions as well as the scaled visage of an old dov. Loki knew, now, that something truly awful was going to come out of the dragon’s mouth.

 “The other needs to kill them. To protect your realm. The mage rot, turned to the Mage’s Last Resort, as the scholars of Winterhold called it, fueled by some great thing of power we do not understand – it could, no it _will_ tear the tree of your Realms to splinters. Keshaara is but one bad choice from exploding, and now, even as she calls the other dovah to her, summoning them through the veil that separates your Oblivion from our own, she draws closer to that decision.”

 The dragon gestured to the animated corpses that shambled with ever-increasing accuracy, fueled by increasing power from a woman long removed from them.

 “She uses the gift of Potema, now. Keshaara, Wolf Queen reborn, truly. She avowed herself to me, she vowed that she would never use the necromancy that she had learned from Potema, the almost-usurper of the throne of Skyrim. She swore on everything she held dear that she would never raise the dead, for she knew me and my…obvious misgivings with such a power. But now, the dead rise and seek her out, and I do not believe she will remember what she had said to me.”

 Loki did not want to believe with that dragon was saying, even though he could see and feel her magic warping in the spaces where there had been emptiness before. The Tesseract could not do something that grim, he wanted to believe, he wanted to forget what the Tesseract had goaded _him_ into doing because if Keshaara could fall to it, he was uncertain if he had the strength to resist it either. He could not back on Midgard, not until Thor had thrown him about the tower.

 But he was not as strong as his once-brother, and could not manage such feats as he had done. He could not throw Keshaara against a wall without risking her magic overwhelming him.

 Loki tried to say as much, turning to the dragon, only to have Keshaara’s pouch and axe pressed into his hands. He looked down at the bladed weapon, and heard the hum of her untainted enchantment. The axe looked passing familiar to the one she had always born back when they had been together in Skyrim, but he did not know enough of their enchantments to identify it as being anything in particular. The pouch was light, even for what Keshaara preferred, but when he tried to investigate it, Durnehviir smacked the back of his hand with a knuckle that was mostly bone.

 “No _time,_ Junsekrah. No time. You have to go to her, and if she cannot listen to you, or if the Tesseract has claimed her body as a vessel completely, you have to end her. With her own weapon. The magic in the enchantment will close the circle, and remove the threat.”

 There was a lie, somewhere in what Durnehviir was saying. Somewhere, but Loki could not find it because he was too caught up in the feel of her axe in his hand.

 “But…you want me to kill her?”

 Loki hated how his voice wavered, hated how small his words were, hated everything about the situation, and he hated Durnehviir, who merely looked at him, and said nothing. Durnehviir just looked at him, with the face of a man, and the still, emotionless eyes of a dragon, and said nothing. Loki knew better than to ask again, because Durnehviir’s gaze told him everything.

 The dragon turned from him, his head tilted, listening for something Loki could not hear.

 “She calls the dragons. If you do not go now, it may be impossible to go, at all. Skyrim is lost to her, but her grief does not know that.”

 Durnehviir did not say anything after that, merely stood in place, his eyes fixed on a point far beyond Loki’s own vision. It only took Loki a few minutes longer to decide to at least investigate what was happening with Keshaara. The magic in the air was indication enough that there was something wrong, he did not want to believe what Durnehviir was saying about Keshaara. There was no possibility that she would fall to the Tesseract. None. Keshaara was made of sterner stuff than that. He had seen her –

  _Eyes blue, declaring herself to him in words she would have never used._

_Arm carved and seeping blue, leaking magic that she could not feel, but he could taste._

_Draconic._

He had seen her brush with the Tesseract and be changed by it, perhaps more than he could have ever thought possible. Loki had wanted to forget the Tesseract’s power, and its promises, but it would always try and alter the memories of it. Some days he hated it, other days, he craved it. Some days he could not do anything to escape the horror of what he had done, other days it all felt like a dream. Thinking that Keshaara had been plagued by it – **hosted** it within her – made his dread all the worse.

 Loki did not even need to ask where Keshaara was. No guards pointed him along the way, no scared nobleman gestured to where she had taken up residence. All he needed to do was follow the feeling of magic, follow the nearly intangible seiðr-taste in the air, and he found her. The throne room of Odin Allfather never looked as it did as Loki walked into it anew, her weapon hanging from his hip, and a hope against hope in his heart that he would not see what did feared.

 Keshaara was sitting, in clothing he could only barely recognize as once being his own, cradled in the curl of a dragon’s tail, just beneath the great swoop of Odin’s throne. He did not know the name of the dragon who formed _her_ throne, only that it was only one of twelve dragons attending to her. She wore no crown, she commanded no great weapon, but Keshaara had the unmistakable air of a conqueror about her. Deep, pulsing blue light emanated from cracks in her skin, splitting along the lines of her veins, outlining every scar with bright white-blue light, giving her an ethereal half-statue appearance. When she looked to him, the interloper in her realm, for a mere moment, her eyes were cold and piercing.

 The next?

 She was rising out of her makeshift throne, waving a hand through the air and summoning the staff she had carried when she had escorted the bilgesnipes into the throne room. Keshaara was _smiling_ at him, her blue eyes gleaming, and pleasure slashed through his heart so keenly that Loki almost fell to his knees. It was magic, he knew. Her magic, again, the Tesseract’s magic as well. The compulsion was so strong that he had to work to shake it off and not kneel.

 Kneeling would…kneeling would be good. Loki shook his head. Kneeling would be later. After this. He would kneel for her, press his hands against her hips and worship her with his tongue. She loved that. She loved it when he did that. He would worship her as proper, and spend hours on his knees for her. But. Not. Now.

 “ _Loki_ ,” she purred, walking forward as the dragons circled outside. The sounds of battle were far away, almost as if they were in an entirely separate world.

 He saw none of the resurrected elves she had summoned, and thought better than to ask her about it. Because she was coming closer to him, smiling broadly, her blue eyes almost completely consumed by her pupils and every step she made promised something lusty and dark. Loki had to swallow the knot in his throat and avert his eyes. Looking at her was like staring into the sun, and her magic curled around him in a manner most pleasing. Norns, he _craved_ her.

 “My _King_.”

 She stroked her fingers down the curve of his jaw and Loki had to remind himself how to breathe. Keshaara was pure magic, purely magical, and her touch made every miniscule part of him come bursting to attention. He shuddered to think what it would be like to have her in his bed, to fuck her and be fucked by her and this was not at all a fruitful track of thinking.

 “It could be very fruitful, my King. Heirs and Spares aplenty, enough to ensure your lineage never falters from the throne of Asgard. Enough so that in a few generations, almost all noble families are tied back into your own.”

 Loki tried to ignore her fingers as they danced down her chest, trying to remember, instead, what Durnehviir had said. Almost as soon as the thought entered his head, her fingers cut through his clothing and pressed too-sharply into his flesh. Blood scented the air, and Loki gasped.

 “Durnehviir sent you? What does that old krentviing want with you?”

 The dragon-tongue sounded heavy on her tongue, and…incorrect.

 “He wanted me to come see you, Kesh.”

 She turned away quickly, her hair flicking out to catch him in the nose.

 “He is the only one who resisted. Him and Odahviing, the sizaan…how dare they? What did he speak to you of? Why did he come to you, Loki, and not me?”

 Keshaara’s voice had lost some of the familiar Nordic lilt of Skyrim, and Loki was hard-pressed to even find trace of the more mellow Morrowindish accent in her voice. In fact…her voice was not at all what he remembered her voice actually being. The stupor of magic receded the slightest bit more as Keshaara was distracted by her diatribe, and Loki realized more was wrong with her than he had first seen.

 She did not… _move_ right. She moved as if she were wholly unused to walking, the smooth, long steps he was used to seeing her take, even when she limped, were gone. There was no fluidity in her movements – they were short, jerking, quick at the joints, but slow through the rest of the limb. It made for a very disconcerting view now that he had the time and mental clarity to actually _look_ at her.

 Keshaara was still talking, and every sentence out of her mouth drove the sense of wrong further into Loki. This was not Keshaara. This wasn’t her.

 The realization hit him harder than Mjolnir had ever done.

 Keshaara was not in that body, not anymore. That blue glow was all Tesseract, and the Tesseract was wearing the face of his betrothed for no better reason than to access something that moved and breathed. It was not his Keshaara. Just her face, smiling at him with a grin that he had felt straining his own muscles before. Back on Midgard.

 “It worked longer than expected. I had hoped you would let me in before you wised up.”

 Keshaara was watching him carefully. Her voice had flattened. Not her voice, the Tesseract’s. He knew that voice.

 “Now, no, Loki. It is not the Tesseract. It is me. Keshaara. Dovahkiin, thane, Ysmir, Thuri. Overlord. What else would you expect from me? I have nothing, and now, everything. Why would I do anything but accept what was given to me? To _take_ what I want, for once? I want **so much** and I cannot believe I let myself languor this long in hopeless dedication for nothing. Divines, do you know what I can do now? I called all the living dragons of Skyrim to me and they came, across fields of Oblivion. I raised the dead and commanded them to fight on my behalf against the mer, and they _did._ ”

 She turned her back to Loki, sweeping her arms wide over the throne room, and with a decidedly nauseating _shift_ , she undid the room around him, rebuilding it as she wanted it, complete with resplendent carvings and reliefs in woods of all sorts of colors. The feeling was instantly different. Warm, yes, but so nastily cold at the same time that it made the hair rise on the back of Loki’s neck.

 “I can do anything, I am _limitless_ now. Nothing can stop me, nothing! I am magic and might and no one stands against me.”

 He could hear the bugling of dragons from outside, the crash of talons against steel. The dark elves had not had to deal with any manner of true dragon in eons. No one had. There were but a few great serpents left, and Keshaara had brought all the dragons of Skyrim to the battle. Not to mention, her magic, which he could sense permeating the entirety of Asgard. If she truly wanted to, she could bring Asgard to its knees. The Tesseract, given form and shape anew, and an existing directive path through the magicka that flowed through Keshaara’s body, was unstoppable.

 “And _you_ , oh, _Loki_ , then there is you. Loki, my King, the High King of Asgard. Rule with me. Next to me. The Throne is yours, my King. Take it and rule with me.”

 She turned to him, her smile broad and toothy, but not the smile of Keshaara.

 “Keshaara, you know I can’t.”

 The smile faded, replaced by a growing sneer.

 “What do you mean, you **can’t**? This was the entire reason you brought my here. Away from my home, away from the graves of my family, away from everything I knew. You wanted a throne, and now that you can have one, you can’t take it?!”

 He was careful not to flinch as her voice rose, knowing that any apparent weakness could spell disaster for him. This was not Keshaara. That was his only solace. She advanced on him, storming forward, with magic warping the air behind her.

 “You took **everything** from me, so you could get throne, you took _everything_ , and now you will not take what you wanted so bad to strip me of everything I had ever wanted?” Her voice broke in a high half-sob, and she reached for the collar of his armor, to hold herself steady against him. “My family, I could have had my family, Loki and you will not take what you wanted? I could have…I could have been with them, I could have been happy, and you took that from me. You took it from me for your throne, and now you won’t take the very thing you wanted?”

 Keshaara sank to her knees, her shoulders shaking with the sobs of her bereavement. Loki felt her words acutely, and knew his selfishness knew no boundaries, but Keshaara had never –

 “I did not bring you here for a throne. You were my Champion, to see me free of prison, and you know that. Keshaara knows that. I may have wanted the throne, but she never agreed to win it for me. My merit alone would have to win it, she always said that.”

 He found his voice, and could not bring himself to care if it sounded small. He needed to speak the truth against her not-quite-lie. Because Keshaara’s mouth was not spilling lies. They were the truths of a heartfelt persuasion. Not a lie, just not an entirely accurate representation of what happened. His lies came easier when he knew that. His mind clarified. She would not have done that to him, she would never have lied to him like she was. Keshaara knew better, she knew _him_ better, and had always called him back from the edge when the Tesseract pushed him towards it.

 Keshaara’s shoulders stopped their movement, and again her grip turned talon-sharp, shredding through his clothing and puncturing his flesh. Loki gasped and jerked away, reaching for the wounds she had inflicted upon him, and felt hot blood spill over his fingers.

 Keshaara stared up at him with angry blue eyes, and he could only watch as the cracks split even further across her skin, spilling blue-white light out from deep within her. There was nothing but hatred in her gaze. No fury, no anger, no scorn or hurt. Only hatred. She hated him, she hated him with everything within her, every last bit of her magic hated him, and he knew that he was in danger.

 “You should have been malleable, Loki Laufeyson. She should have managed it. Even now, she screams for you, do you know that? She does not even have the respect of self to ask for you to save her. She counts herself lost already, doomed to a fate that one other mage has born, to her memory. She seeks death, screams for your safety, promises anything to keep you whole and hale.”

 The voice that came out of Keshaara’s mouth was not her own. It was the voice of thousands, the voice of all those who the Tesseract had touched and corrupted in its existence. The Infinity Gem was truly limitless, always having existed in one form or another, and it appeared that its next form would not be some paltry blue box, used as a battery and nothing else, but a glorious woman with magic unending and a thirst for subjugation. Loki had known that the Tesseract had amplified his own wicked compulsions; he knew that not all of his actions on Midgard were his and his alone, and the longer he had spent separated from the Tesseract’s presence, the more he had realized he had not been solely at the command of Thanos and the Others.

 Her words cut him deeper than her hands had. Time and again, he had seen Keshaara beaten bloody in his defense, and every time it happened, it was harder to stomach. Knowing that she had called for him on Jotunheim had felt like he had been flayed, watching her fall into herself as her magic had been stolen by an old relic that he should have never exposed her to, hearing her call for him during Odin’s trial, and remembering the way she had reached for him in her sleep, her hand instinctively curling around his own, all of that hurt so acutely he scarcely could bring himself to breathe. But the torture of seeing her body usurped from her, taken and twisted, and knowing that she still only thought of him…he felt his blood still, his heart’s beating fade, until there was physical pain enough to match the mental.

 “Give her back.”

 “You are in no place to make demands, Laufeyson. This realm, and all others are _mine_. For eons, I have been used, made to serve others, and now, I have a way to ensure it never happens again. No war, no strife, no misery, nothing except _me_. I will rule victorious, crowned in glory and power unmatched. If you will not stand by her side, if you refuse to play the game I made for you to play, I will destroy you.”

 Decades of handling Thor’s pranks had honed a particularly good sense of when to move out of the way of something heavy-handed. He dove to his right, out of the path of a fireball that took out three of the pillars behind him. Loki had no time to behold the carnage. Keshaara’s body was already preparing the next attack, pulling lightning out of the air and flinging it at him. The magic of Skyrim had been his area of study for a good while now, as he sought to understand the way in which an entirely different culture had mastered the arcane arts, and when he pulled a warding spell around him, it held against the onslaught.

 He dispelled it when the lightning faded, staring intently at the possessed woman he had hoped to save. Durnehviir would have already acted, swinging the axe with the intent to slaughter, but Loki could not yet do it. He had a hope, a slim glimmer of a chance that he could still bring her back. He wanted to believe he could save her, because she had managed to do the impossible and save him. If he was truly worthy of being her betrothed, he needed to do this. Just…for her.

 “Kesh, _please_ , I need you to come back!”

 Loki rarely ever hated his voice, but even if he was willing to dedicate his life to her as her husband, for as long as she could stand to be with him, he never loved how it would break over her name when he saw her breaking. It happened too often.

 His own magic flared in defense against the Tesseract-Keshaara’s offense, shielding him from smoke and shadow and attacks from incorporeal blades suddenly made corporeal. It was not enough. He lost sight of her for the barest of seconds, and she was utterly gone. Loki knew she was still in the room, he could feel the epicenter of her magic still with him, but he could put no finer placement on where she could be than that.

 Not until he heard the uncharacteristic crow of victory, and saw the wall of fire and lightning and frost rushing at him. Too close to defend against, too fast to dodge, too massive to hope for a reprieve from a mortal wound, leaving Loki no option other than to stand, and stare, and wait. Death was coming, and it came from Keshaara.

 He closed his eyes when he felt the first lash of heat from the fire, not wanting to see himself roasted alive.

 The burning never came. There was a sound like the exhalation of a giant, and then silence. Loki looked up, careful to keep the hope of living (and worse, the hope that she had woken from her stupor) from blooming in his chest, but when he looked, his vision was dominated by a small half-broken talisman, glowing a violent purple color, projecting a ward spell with such intensity that the entirety of the force Keshaara-Tesseract had brought against him had been subsumed. He stood unharmed, amidst burning, scorched ground.

 Her talisman, the one she had pressed into his palm with a kiss and a plea, had been enchanted in a moment, without the proper protocols, and its magic was clearly being amplified by the Tesseract, as was everything else about Keshaara. But, for something that was meant to be protective, to be amplified apparently meant becoming something nigh impossible.

 Then again, Keshaara was splintering into pure magic, so perhaps impossible needed to be redefined.

 Keshaara-Tesseract stared at the shield, and snarled, throwing lightning. Loki did not flinch, but watched in amazement as the offensive magic vanished all over again. He was safe, surrounded by Keshaara’s enchantment, protected now as she had always intended him to be. Before Keshaara-Tesseract could react, the purple shield morphed to green and shot back at Keshaara, hitting her square in her chest and knocking her to the ground. The talisman fell back against his chest, heavy and warm, but no more magic leaked from it.

 Loki circled uncertainly, watching Keshaara carefully. He wanted to comfort her, to pick her up and kiss the worries away from her, but he did not want to die. Not here, not now.

 “L-Loki?” she stammered as she pushed herself up from the floor, her voice the same rasping softness it had been when they had awoken that morning, and her eyes –

 She looked to him, eyes golden and orange again and Loki’s breath left him. He was at her side, gathering her into his arms and pressing desperate, hungry kisses to her lips, her cheeks, her forehead, her lips again. Keshaara returned the affection, leaning up into him as best she could, stealing the few moments they had together before everything went to shit again.

 “Kesh, I was so worried. Durnehviir wanted me to kill you because he didn’t think you would be able to control-” He started, speaking against her lips, trying to memorize everything about her because there was a nagging sense of wrong, but her interruption came as swiftly as he prayed it would not.

 “Loki, he is right. You need to kill me,” she said softly, cupping her hands over his.

 He was only aware of the chanted “No” coming from his mouth when she silenced him with a kiss.

 “Loki, please. I can’t…I can’t hold it back. I can’t stop it. It’s like a river, and for a moment, I…you, dammed it. But there are already, hah,” she looked down, laughing drily at her shattered skin, “cracks forming in it. I cannot hold it at bay, and I can’t stop it. I can’t get it out of me, not in the time we have left.”

 “Kesh, no.”

 His voice was small, and he pulled her tight to him, burying his face in her neck.

 “Loki, _please_. Give me a death worth singing of. I do not want to die a monster, I do not want to die when it is not even _me._ Please, Loki. Let me try and fix what I have done, then destroy me before I destroy everything I love. I can’t do that. It would be worse than anything the Daedra could do to me, to know that I hurt you.”

 He tightened his grasp on her, pressing his face to her flesh, trying to absorb her very essence into himself. She was asking too much, and still not enough at all. The words that had not been her own, but the vicious attempt to control him by the Tesseract given flesh, came floating back to him anyway. She had only wanted a good death.

 He could not deny her that.

 But he could not give words to that, he could not bring his silvered tongue to tell her that he would kill her, his betrothed, because it would shatter him as neatly as the Tesseract had shattered her skin to tell her that he was going to kill her. So he settled for nodding his assent into her neck, and pulling her closer, wishing against every damned possibility in the multiverse that he did not…he would not have to do this.

  _Norns, just let there be a way for her to live._

 Keshaara kissed him again, not waiting for him to open his mouth to her, not waiting for anything approximating permission to steal his breath out of his chest. She pressed her fingers against the wounds she had given him just minutes before, and he felt the rush of her healing magic wash over the smarting wounds, leaving him whole once again. He closed his eyes, wanting to memorize the kiss and everything about it, not wanting to ever let the moment pass.

 Norns, of all the seconds that had ever passed, and all the seconds that now stretched on before him, none would hurt him, or save him, as much as this one. This was just him and Keshaara, one final time, one last kiss, before they had to do what was _right_.

 Loki hated the cruelty of it all.

 Keshaara butted her forehead against his after she drew away from their kiss, her eyes still closed, and the soft glow of the magic within her wavered. Loki held her close, not wanting to let her go, not yet, please not yet. Thanos and the Others could have never made a torture this malicious. She kissed him one last time, a short, hesitant touch of her lips to his, and backed away from him. His hands trailed across her body, and she brushed the back of his hand with her knuckles as she stepped back.

 He should have expected her to repeat her actions from his last moments on Skyrim, but when she lifted his hand to her mouth, dipping her head down to kiss the space between his thumb and forefinger, his couldn’t stop the plaintive half-whine that tumbled out of his throat. It was to tender of her, and he did not like that she was trying to offer him peace and consolation even though she was the one dying.

 “Be at peace, Loki. This is what I want.”

 He did not have the heart to tell her he knew she was lying to him. It was a sweet lie, for her sake and his own, but that made it all the more unbearable. His hands burned when she released them, and Loki could only watch as she rolled her shoulders and the magic in her burned more cracks in her flesh.

 “When…when I start losing control. Do it then. I want to be awake as long as possible, and I want to be awake when it happens. I want to be me when I die this time.”

 Loki would have had to been as thick as Thor to miss the “ _this time_ ” in her statement. He would ask…but it was not important. She wanted to die herself, and he would let the Tesseract take him as it took her before denying her a death of her own design. He was going to…his plan had been to drape her in gold and gems, to build them a house far out in the reaches of Asgard, far from the Palace and every nannering idiot in it, to declare her his queen and never let a day go by when she did not know that to be his most profound truth, to spend their lives in bliss, even if war came again. He wanted to make her happy.

 But instead he would be draping her body in a shroud. Building a mausoleum as the Nords of Skyrim did, far from the nannering idiots who did not deserve to see her resting place. Declaring her his queen, and never letting a day go by when he would not keenly feel the vacuum caused by her absence. Living in pain, wishing for war so he could have a death worthy of finding her again.

 He nodded when she looked at him, a question dancing in her fire-touched eyes. It would kill him, but he would do it. For her.

 Loki almost wanted to laugh at how pathetic his court-gift had ended up being. He reached for the axe, curling his fingers over the shaft of the weapon. The axe felt light in his hands, but he wished it felt as heavy as Mjolnir. The task before him was as impossible as lifting the hammer had been, and he ached for a way out of this mess. But no trick could undo the truth of Keshaara’s words.

 Keshaara turned her gaze to the battles still raging outside the throne room, and let the magic, the power of the Tesseract flow through her.

 She knew the battles were still raging, small pockets of fighting from elves who could not leave, even as the majority of their forces retreated, unable to find Jane. The fact that Jane had apparently escaped detection did gladden her, and she could feel that Frigga was alive and well as well. She had done good then. Protected the two most important women in Asgard. Chosen a path that she knew would lead to her own destruction, but chosen it in order to do the best thing for a country she was not even a member of.

 Apparently destiny tended towards repetition.

 At least it would be over now.

 Keshaara did not dare use the word to command the dragons she had brought here. The power of being the Overlord of Dragons only aggravated the Tesseract’s presence within her. She had to maintain control for as long as she could. The elves, as always, were painted deep, pulsing red in her mind’s eye. They were enemies, and to be destroyed. The blue? Fading from injuries, fear, death looming over them all, they were people she needed to protect. The healing spell that sprang to her hands was born of an urge to save, protect, defend, and fueled by a power she could not ever hope to comprehend, washed over all of Asgard.

 Loki sighed, feeling her familiar magic rush through him, healing small hurts, and completing the erasure of the scars she had gifted him the evening before. (Norns had it really only been last night that he had held her close and promised to marry her?)

 Throughout the entirety of the realm, those who held no ill will towards Keshaara were healed whole, and simultaneously, the elves that remained dropped, their lives stolen from them, fed into the magic to strengthen the Asgardians who had been harmed. She was aware of the prisoners that had been released in the same way one is aware of a swarm of gnats, and without really even making an honest attempt, she quashed their rebellion, stripping their autonomy for as long as it took to force them to return to their cells and wait.

 There was damage to buildings to deal with. The Asgardians had horrible taste in design, for a surety. But it was their homes, their temples, their way of living, and she would not be a good ~~leader~~ protector if she let them languor in attempting to fix what had been broken.

 Dragons circled the air around her as she commanded the magic to rebuild what had been broken, restoring buildings, statues, landscaping, everything she could manage to fix with the magic that roared ever louder under her command. The magic in her chest lashed out, opening huge lines in her flesh so it could escape out of her in large and larger quantities. Keshaara felt her control begin to slip, but held it.

 She was duly aware of the dragons landing, crowding the throne room, humming sonorously in unison as her magic wrapped around them as well. They did not twist into human forms, but remained as dragons, watching her carefully, their wings folded neatly and their voices muted. She had one more thing to do. Just one more thing and then she could be done. She just needed to ~~rule~~ ~~command~~ ~~reign~~ resist the slightest bit longer. She wanted to give her court-gift to Loki, she wanted him to know how much she cared but when she tried to turn her magic from huge acts of devastation and might, she couldn’t.

 Keshaara could not control her magic. She could not bring it to heel, it was spinning out of her control again she needed to make it slow down to stop and listen to her to get it to just calm itself long enough for her to show him how much he meant to her to let him know that she had wanted this and that he did not need to worry or feel guilty because she had done the best thing and that was enough to die well.

 Loki had wrapped her in his arms somewhere in the middle of her mental tirade, and while it soothed her, it did not stop the panic that welled up as she realized she was truly losing herself again. Keshaara trembled in his arms, looking up at him when he pulled her close and pressed a kiss to her hair. She did not want him to be hurt, not when she could feel the magic…the _Tesseract_ trying to claw its way back to the forefront of her mind. She struggled to hold it back, just a few moments more. Keshaara looked up at him, staring into the green eyes she had missed for centuries, and when she felt the steel slide between her ribs, and the sudden shock of cold, absent of all pain, she could not help her smile.

 The voice of the Tesseract faded.

 And so did she.

Bliss.

 Loki pulled the axe from her chest, not liking the magic-infused blood that spilled over his hands, his clothing, the floor. He held her tight to his chest, not wanting to admit that he had killed her just yet, not wanting to face the fact that her body hung limply in her arms, the glow of magic fading slowly from her.

 What was surprising was the bolt of light that burst from her, following the blade of the axe, and then, diving into the pouch he had forgotten he was wearing at his waist. The light faded, and there was no magic, only her dead body and…the Tesseract, lying still on the ground, contained back in a box, glowing angry blue.

  _i had it i had her and you ruined it you ruined **her** you could have **ruled** you could have **won** and now she is gone and you will always live with that_

 He did not need the Tesseract to tell him what he already knew. Odahviing appeared from the shadows, striding towards Loki with purpose, before plucking Keshaara neatly from Loki’s arms, as Durnehviir took the pouch from his waist, and in concert, the two dragons walked away. Loki was stunned and immobile for a moment, blinking in incredulous disbelief.

The Tesseract echoed his confusion, but Loki ignored it. The Tesseract did not matter anymore. He was never going to think of it again, nor turn to it for power. It was responsible for her death.

 The two dragons, clearly operating on some predetermined plan, took Keshaara (limp, lifeless, dead, dripping blood) away, out of the throne room. Loki’s tongue failed him, and he could not find any words to stop the dragons or get them to explain what madness they were doing. He could hear them talking to each other, quickly, their own mouths sliding around the words of the Dov too fast for him to catch. He tried to keep up, but could hardly catch a word, let along them.

 It took him a few minutes to realize that they were walking towards the healing rooms. Why would they go there, there was nothing to do for Keshaara. You cannot heal death. Even if they could close the wounds left by the magic coursing through her frame, that would not bring her back. Nothing could call a soul back from Hel’s realm unless Hel herself willed it, and even then, it took an amount of magic so stupendous that it was still, for all intents and purposes, impossible.

 When Hel opened the door, greeting Durnehviir (with a smile that made Loki ache to see the same smile on Keshaara’s face just one last time) he did not know what to make of the situation. There was obviously something going on. It was obvious that he had been left out of the loop, and when his mother entered the room behind him, Loki finally gave voice to his confusion.

 “What is happening? Mother?”

 “Hush, Loki, my son. I have been told what was happening. Stand back. Durnehviir, Odahviing, bring the Forges closer together. We need to be able to bridge between the two.”

 Loki was gently led to a nearby seat, and guided to sit. He did as he was asked to; still not quite sure what was happening, and definitely in shock. He watched as Keshaara’s body was lain on the platform for one of the Soul Forges. The exact function of the Forge had never interested him, he had never seen any reason to know what it did, exactly. It would have been humiliating to be knowledgeable of more of the ‘woman’s art’ than he did already. But now, when Keshaara was clearly being subjected to whatever magic was inherent in the Forge, he wished he had sought the hidden knowledge.

 Durnehviir pulled one of Keshaara’s court-gifts from the pouch Loki had been carrying – the large, flawless gem. Loki remembered it being a deep purple, but even when the lights of the room struck its faceted surface, the stone remained nearly black. The stone was placed on the center of the second Forge, where it sat, dull and uninteresting. Keshaara’s body still leaked blood, oozing instead of pulsing, dripping down the intricate Forge, leaving a mess someone would undoubtedly eventually have to clean up.

 After a short, whispered conversation between the four gathered others, Odahviing stood away, leaving Frigga, Hel, and Durnehviir standing by the two Forges. Hel cradled Keshaara’s face in her hands, standing at the crown of Forge she lay upon, bowing her head, but not placing more of herself into the field of affect of the Forge. Frigga stood between the two Forges, her dress torn and soaked with blood. Loki knew something had to have happened between Frigga and Keshaara for the Allmother to be present, and standing in magical might between two of the greatest of the Forges ever created. Durnehviir stood at the foot of the second Forge, his hands hovering over the black gem, waiting for the proper moment.

 “Are you sure you are recovered enough, Frigga? You were at my lintel when she brought you back.”

 It was Hel who spoke, directly to the Queen. Loki’s stomach dropped. His mother had nearly died, and Keshaara had – was _that_ what triggered the awakening? Keshaara would have had to know that using enough power to heal a mortal wound would have awoken the Tesseract within her, and she had done it anyway. To save his mother.

 Frigga, for her part, merely turned her head towards the ruler of Helheim, her eyes narrowed.

 “Keshaara deserves every chance. I am more suited than Odahviing, and Eir is not skilled enough for this. Even if she was, I needed her to tend to another task.”

 Hel smiled. Loki swallowed a knot in his throat, but said nothing. He did not want to interrupt whatever was happening. He had a feeling he was going to see something vitally important and he did not want to cause a disruption. Loki had not gotten this far in his life breaking up moments of importance.

 “Are you ready? I do not know how well your magic and hers will react, but you must try to bring it into accordance with your Forges. Skyrim’s magic is not so different than ours, but Keshaara bore so much of it that I shudder to think what could happen if it spins out of your control.”

 Durnehviir spoke this time, his voice low as his hands moved in magicked circles above the gem.

  _The soul gem, Keshaara’s axe, the moment in Skyrim when he had seen her strip magic away._

 It felt like Thor had dropped Mjolnir on his stomach. He could only watch as Frigga and Hel both nodded, and Durnehviir’s skeletonized fingers danced over the surface of the gem, pulling on invisible strands of soul-stuff and painstakingly slowly coaxing the first tendril of dazzling light from the black gem. He guided the strand upwards, into the miasma of magic that formed the ceiling of the Forge, connecting it to the magic that Loki hoped would work as expected.

 The Forge exploded into life, and instead of a single form present above the gem, representing Keshaara and everything about her, both good and bad, there were hundreds, if not thousands of forms. Wings and claws and human hands, all of it, clawing and twisting chaotically around itself as it tried to form semblance. Durnehviir hummed, a tune Loki did not know, but Odahviing picked up on, adding his own voice to the elder dragon’s. The turmoil slowed, but did not cease, allowing Durnehviir to reach up into the gold-touched white light of Keshaara’s essence of being and begin urging it towards the other Forge.

 The soul-form of Keshaara was slow to move, content with the gem, apparently. Hel whispered, her voice sliding between the dragon’s hum ~~as easily as the axe he held had slid between her ribs~~ and coaxing the wayward soul back towards the broken body she held. Frigga extended one hand to the Forge bearing the gem, and the other, to the Forge bearing the body. Her magic was more subtle than Loki’s own, and of a more tempered nature than her son’s, but when roused, it was capable of great deeds.

 With the same gentleness he remembered her using as she picked him up as a child, she guided Keshaara’s soul to the second Forge, the one where her broken body still lay, pale and waxy. The form of Keshaara resisted, shying away from the brokenness of her body, but as soon as her soul was fully contained by the secondary Forge, Durnehviir smashed the gem with a great downward strike of his clenched hand. The soulform rebelled, roiling against the boundaries of a single Forge, seeking an escape, away from the broken body it no longer wished to be bound to.

 “Keshaara, be silent,” Durnehviir growled, abandoning the primary Forge to the approach the secondary.

 Fearlessly, even as her power stripped what flesh remained from his hands, he pulled the wings from her side, crushing them in his grasp and letting the shards of the soul form back to Keshaara’s body, hovering in the Soul Forge. Frigga gasped at something Loki could not see, cutting the sound off with a stern twist of her lips, and gestured for Durnehviir to continue.

 The dragon tore away the extraneous parts of Keshaara, crushing what was not truly part of her. It was a few minutes before Loki could see the effect of the dragon’s actions. Keshaara’s wounds began to close. The soul was returning to its truest form, and as such, so was the body.

  _At least he could bury a **pretty** corpse now_ , Loki thought viciously, not wanting to watch this farce any longer. Keshaara was –

 Her chest rose, just the once, and Hel immediately bent her face over Keshaara, her mouth moving faster and faster as she struggled to keep up with Durnehviir’s own actions. Odahviing circled, his gaze focused solely on Keshaara. Loki burned hot, then froze, not knowing if he dared to hope that whatever the plan was would actually work.

 But he watched, as Durnehviir pulled Keshaara’s soulform, poked and prodded to force a proper alignment. Dovahkiin meant being a cairn for the souls of hundreds of dragons, and that left little room for _her_. She had said as much before. She lost herself to the others, and now Durnehviir was putting it right, taking the strength of his siblings, breaking it with hands that had no reason to maintain their shape, and adding it to hers in truth, feeding the weakness of a soul long aching for death with the vigor of hundreds.

 The wounds of the Tesseract faded, subsumed by clean skin and pink flesh. That was good, at least, but when Loki saw the scar over her left eye begin to recede, to pull back in upon itself and melt like frost before dawn, he could not force himself to breathe any longer. His gaze danced from known injury to known injury, and he watched as her fingers grew, her leg straightened, and he could hear as debris clicked onto the table of the Forge – memories of battles long past, lodged in bone and flesh where none in Skyrim could have ever hoped to remove them.

 Keshaara’s body mirrored her soul. As one was reformed, so was the other, and the soulform stilled its wild movements, quieting and lying as immobile as the body did. It was a long few minutes more before Durnehviir stepped away, shaking flesh back over his decrepit hands. The soul that hovered over a healed body was lying in repose, waiting. No breath moved her body now.

 “Hel, it is your skill now.”

 The Leader of Helheim nodded, not lifting her head from where it was, still muttering words of power beneath her breath. The door to the Healing Rooms opened, and Frigga turned on the door, a command on her lips, and a hand raised to stop the intrusion. It was not often that Odin Allfather was stopped in his tracks with hardly a word, but when his wife was standing in a room that reeked of magic and blood, it was occasionally prudent to do just that. Others crowded behind the King, peeking into the one room that had remained inhabited as the evacuees were returning.

 Frigga barked a demand for them all to leave, and for guards to be set outside the room. Only Eir was to enter, all others would _wait_.

 Loki did not miss how Odin looked to him, surprised to see his not-son sitting quietly in the background, blood-stained and focused on the woman in the Forge. But Loki did not have time for his Not-Father. Hel was wrapping magic around Keshaara and her both, her arcane and ancient, and Loki could not hear the words. He was not even sure he would want to know them, anyway. The realm of Death was terrifying to him, and he did not want to ever be in this position again.

 The moments stretched on. Tense, and unwilling to allow hope still, Loki watched as Hel rose, and stepped away from Keshaara. Still, Keshaara did not breathe, did not show signs of living, did not move and come back to him from wherever she had gone. The Soul Forge could only do so much. If Keshaara did not come back into herself, she would be dead. Forever. Gone.

  _But a pretty corpse_.

 “Yuvonjunniahkrin. Please. _Keshaara_ ,” he whispered, the first sound he had made in the entirety of his time in the healing room with her.

 The Soul Forge shattered.

 Keshaara screamed life back into her body.


	40. Leita Kaldr

The Tale of the Dragonborn

The Tale of the Jotun Prince

* * *

 Keshaara was quiet for a long time after her scream. Carefully, she had been moved from the Forge to one of the private side rooms of the Healing Wing, lain in a bed and covered with blankets to help keep her warm. She was so cold. Loki had not let go of her hand ever since she had been placed in the bed, urging the healers to bring heated blankets to try and bring Keshaara’s temperature back to where he was used to it being.

 His only consolation was that he could feel her pulse, and watch her breathe. Hel had excused herself not long after Keshaara had started breathing again and had been placed in repose on the bed, looking at Loki for a moment, before covering his hands with her own.

 “She will wake, Loki.”

 Hel did not say when, he noticed.

 The words were small comfort, but Loki held on to them desperately as the day waned. The dragons did not approach him until the night had fallen around Asgard, Odahviing kneeling across from him, staring at Keshaara carefully. Neither spoke, but Durnehviir extended a hand to Loki, opening the half-rotted appendage to offer Loki a shard of the purple-black gem Durnehviir had shattered to keep Keshaara in one piece. Loki snatched the shard out of Durnehviir’s hand, clutching it to his chest and glaring at the dragon.

 “It is the only one that did not turn to dust. If it is anyone’s, it is yours, Junsekrah.”

 Loki had nothing for the dragon but a stare. Durnehviir excused himself, leaving Loki alone. He held a shard of what was once her soul, and that was all he needed. For now, at least. He still had her broken talisman in place around his neck, and it took a shockingly small amount of magic to get the talisman to accept the shard as a stone-setting. The talisman and shard hung heavily from the chain around his neck, and he tucked it absentmindedly beneath his clothing. The magic that hummed in the shard and the small talisman warmed the very center of his chest, and nowhere else.

 The smell of battle still hovered in the air around him, and his hair smelled of burnt flesh and scorched blood. His summoned armor was gone, leaving him in the bloodstained clothing he had walked out of his rooms in. That morning. With Keshaara on his arm, and not a thought of what was going to happen so soon. Keshaara had smiled at him, and had given him a shadow of that same smile when her axe had slid into her flesh at his hand. She had looked at him, her eyes fading to orange from bright, blistering blue, and _smiled._

 The slash of pain that cut through his chest was enough to strangle a sob out of his throat, and he collapsed down onto the bed, kneeling at her side and burying his face in the sheets to muffle the sounds that tore out of him. He was careful to keep one hand on her pulse, but the other, he fisted in the sheets as grief wracked him. How could he have done this to her?

 The gentle rise and fall of her chest, the soft pulse of her heart’s beating against his fingers, none of that assuaged the deep, deep sense of misery that pervaded his very essence in that moment. He had done this to her, sent her to die, and then hoped the dragons would be able to undo it as they had so clearly thought they would be able to. It did not matter if she had drawn breath and continued to, because she was no longer _with_ him.

 Agony seared him, and Loki found himself unable to care about appearances when he heard the door to the room open. He wailed his grievances against the world into the blankets of Keshaara’s bed, head down and shoulders rolled forward. He did not – could not – rise to see who had come in again. His grief was upon him and there was nothing that could abate it. Loki could not remember the last time he had cried, and had never, he had _not ever_ allowed himself to cry in the presence of others, lest they mock him anew for being weak.

 Let them mock.

 He felt weak.

 “Oh, my _son_.”

 Frigga knelt with him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, and not making any movement to remove him from Keshaara’s side. Loki turned to her, everything forgotten but the pain of a thousand childhood hurts washed away by her embrace, and hoped that the magic of childhood had not faded entirely from his mother’s arms. He wrapped an arm around Frigga’s waist, keeping his eyes closed so he would not have to see her look at him in this state. But the way his mother held him told him that she already knew his pain.

 Loki was careful to keep one hand on Keshaara’s wrist, not ever wanting to miss a beat of her heart. It seemed like every pulse was whispering the same three words in a mad, rushed jumble at him. To remind him why he wouldn’t **ever** dare to lift his hand from hers until she was awake again.

  _Just-in-case_ (it might stop, stay here with her) _. Just-in-case_ (she wakes up and you aren’t here) _. Just-in-case_ (they are wrong and she sleeps forever) _. Just-in-case_ (she is only half-alive) _. Just-in-case_ (they come to take him from her some time in the future) _._

 Just in case.

 He was not aware, really, of the words his mother was saying. She was murmuring condolences at him, in the same, soft tone she had used when he had been a child. The words did not matter, only the tone and the closeness. The comfort she offered to try and mollify the howling inside him.

Frigga did not leave his side for a long while, and did not release him from her grasp the entire time. They made an odd pair, Loki was sure, and he tried to muster up the self-respect he seemed to be lacking now that he was holding on to his mother and sobbing. It did not matter, and the strength to pull away from Frigga did not come to him. He did not find it in himself to care, either. Frigga was the All-Mother yes, but she was _his_ mother too.

 He did not know how long it had been when Frigga drew away from him, saying she, with all the regret in the Realms, had to tend to the others affected by the day’s trauma. Loki felt no bitterness at the words, only the pain of his loss. Alone, with a cold spot in his chest now that his mother was not supplying her warmth to him, Loki looked back to Keshaara, resting his head on her bed.

 Sleep stole upon him almost immediately, wrapping him in comforting oblivion and soothing the guilt that plagued him.

 He dreamed of nothingness.

 The abyss had never been so comforting.

 Days passed like this. Or at least he assumed it was days. The sun rose, the sun set, and the lights in the room changed accordingly until he snapped at one of the attendants to cover all the windows with the heaviest curtains and leave them in half-darkness. His tears were gone by the second morning, but that did not stop the overwhelming pain in his chest. Loki half-thought that screaming would make it go away, but when he tried, his voice broke over the agony and pain before failing him completely.

 It felt like the pain was trying to tear its way out of his body. It _hurt_. Physically, it _hurt_. Loki had felt hurt emotionally before. The whole thing with the usurpation of the throne and throwing himself into the abyss and making a deal with a purple ape devil to try and regain something of his own had all been born of pain.

 Still, this pain, this moment was _different_. If he thought to hard about it, he could practically **taste** it in the back of his throat, sharp and bitter like vinegared wine, astringent like an unripe fruit, and choking like cold oatmeal. He wanted to strangle all the poets who ever said pain tasted of bile. Pain tasted so much _worse_ than mere acid.

 He never left her side, alternating between sitting and kneeling beside her bed, his fingers resting over her pulse to remind himself that even if she slept forever, she still drew breath, she still lived, in whatever half-life there was in an eternal sleep. Loki knew, in some deep part of him, that he should wash the smells of battle off, clean himself up, be presentable for her when she woke up, but that all meant leaving her side and he was not certain he could do that.

 Loki obsessed over every smallest detail. The servants would come in to leave food for him, look over Keshaara, change the heating elements in her bedsheets that were supplying her with some sort of false warmth, and cast pitying glances over his head to each other when they thought he wasn’t looking at them.

 He felt their stares, their pity, their condemnation, everything. Loki had not washed, he was filthy and covered in her blood and the dust of death, he was mourning and he felt the sting of his reddened eyes. He felt it and did not care. Keshaara was with him, but separate from him and nothing would make it right. When he nodded off, he would wake to the same thing, the same still body that should be anything but. Soon, he stopped caring about being awake or asleep. He would open his eyes and she would look as she had before. He would close them and dream of nothingness.

 So he slept.

 The sounds of movement roused him some time on the seventh day. It was hard to want to wake when he knew what he could be waking up to, but the sounds came from nearby and he wanted to make sure that any servant that dared to lay a hand upon Keshaara did so with the utmost grace and tenderness.

 Blisteringly bright orange eyes were staring at him.

 Keshaara had a half-aware smile on her lips, and before Loki could ask her why her eyes looked different, why they were whirling a thousand shades of orange and yellow and gold and red, she was reaching for him with her other hand, and Loki snatched it so he could press a desperate kiss to the pulse-point of her wrist.

 Her flesh still felt cold, but the heat he had always associated with her would come back soon. It had to. She was Keshaara, and no one burned him as sweetly as she did.

 “Hello, Loki. I did not think I would wake to see you in Sovengarde…”

 Her voice was rough, raspy with overuse and magical burnout, but it sounded sweeter than anything Loki could have heard.

 “Kesh, this isn’t Sovengarde. You-”

 She did not let him finish his sentence, sitting up quickly in her bed before groaning and falling back onto the pillows. Her hands twitched against his grip, and she grimaced.

 “I am alive?”

 This time, her voice was soft, muted by emotion. Loki leaned over her to press a soft kiss to her cheek, before burying his face in the side of her neck and breathing deeply. A tremor started in his chest and radiated outward, and he clutched her to him, not wanting to let her go because she _was_ alive and he had thought that she never would be.

 Keshaara was hesitant, wrapping an arm around his waist, and reaching up with the other hand to cradle the back of his head gently. She moved slowly, trying to understand what her last memories were telling her. There was so much rattling around in her mind that she could not be sure what was real, what was fiction, what was fantasy and what had happened. She did not…

 “Loki, _am_ I alive?”

 “Norns, _yes_ , you _are_ ,” he gasped into her neck, pulling away just long enough to look at her again, smooth hair out of her eyes (smearing dirt across her forehead, she could _feel that, ew gross_ ) before hugging her tighter to him.

 “H-how? I remember…well I don’t remember much after we woke up, actually. It’s all muddy. There was screaming, and I remember dying. I definitely remember dying.”

 She did not say “you killed me”. Keshaara may have just woken out of a stupor that she was certain had been death, but she was not going to say that to Loki, who looked like he was still mere moments out of battle. Judging by the twinge in her muscles when she tried to sit up or move her legs, Keshaara knew she had been bedridden for more than just a few hours.

 Loki said nothing, just clutched her tighter to his chest. Keshaara thought better than to address the trembling in his arms, but he was starting to hurt her. His shoulder was digging kind of painfully into her throat, and while she appreciated the sentiment of the embrace, it was uncomfortable when everything else in her body felt like one large bruise.

 “You smell, just awful, Loki.”

 He laughed, sobbing in the same breath, and held her closer for one moment longer before relinquishing his grip on Keshaara.

 “Yes, I know, dearest. But I had to…make sure you woke up.”

 Keshaara smiled at him, reaching up to push some of his greasy, dirty, filthy hair out of his eyes. Loki did not ignore the fact that her hand came away dirty. He really was disgustingly foul right then.

 “There is no danger any more, Loki. Nothing will take me from you. I think…I’m going to sleep now though. I’m very tired. I promise I will wake up again,” she added, when Loki looked at her like she was threatening to abandon Asgard again, some secret hurt and fear in his eyes. “But I need to sleep. I’m so tired…”

 He fretted over her, gently brushing his hands down her arms before pulling the blankets back up to her chin and smoothing her hair out of her eyes.

 “I will be here when you awake, Kesh.”

 “Hopefully after a shower,” Keshaara mumbled back, already half-asleep.

 He laughed, and the happy sound was the last thing Keshaara remembered hearing before she fell into deep slumber.

 She was only half-aware of the things happening around her as she slept on. She could hear Loki’s voice, the lighter voice of Frigga, Dόmhildr’s worried fretting, the servants coming and going…but never woke up all the way to address anything that was happening around her. Her body ached and her mind was still reeling from everything that had happened to her the last time she was truly conscious. Magic flowed through her body - she could feel that, and her dreams, when they came to her, were dreams of soft thoughts, gentle ideas, soothing words and the comforts of home.

 The deepest sense of peace began to fill her as the pain slowly faded. She would wake, now, every so often, and Loki was always there, next to her, waiting for her to be awake. Sometimes, Keshaara would wake and look to where Loki sat, to find the Prince slumped in the chair, asleep. Sometimes with ink staining his fingertips, other times with hands as impeccably clean as everything about him usually was. A book would invariably be in his lap, opened, or closed, or nearly falling off of his knees, and Keshaara would always smile at him before sleep stole upon her again.

 “Keshaara, dear heart, can you wake up for a moment?”

 Loki’s voice near her ear roused her out of the dream she had been reveling in, and Keshaara blinked herself awake. Her mind was a haze, but she saw Loki and looked to him for clarification.

 “The healers say you are well enough to be moved to another room. I want you to be moved to my…our rooms. I want to keep you safe, and the healers think you are just sleeping off the excess of…energy from the Tesseract’s possession. Your dragons agree and are anxious to see you out of here. They don’t like all the extra magic hovering around here. Too close to the Soul Forges, they say.”

 Keshaara kind of stopped paying attention around the words “our rooms” and was smiling broadly as Loki rambled. Her mind was still muddied from sleep, but he had said “our rooms” and that was just about as close to “our home” that existed on Asgard.

 She was not entirely sure of what she said, or how she said it, since her mind was hazy and her memories were still not solidified as to how long it had been since she had died, but Loki looked at her like she was the Divinity of the Divines and it took her breath away. The breathlessness lasted a heartbeat longer when Loki wrapped her in an embrace and tilted the world around her.

 She dropped the last few inches onto his – _their_ bed and laughed when she bounced. Loki was in bed with her this time, kissing her desperately, pressing hungry kisses all over her face, running his hands down her arms, across her chest, before reaching up to hold her head steady as he kissed her again.

 And again and again and again.

 When he lay next to her, Keshaara sighed happily, curling into Loki’s side to be closer to him. He wrapped her in his arms, nuzzling her hair and falling into a deep, deep sleep with her.

 Eventually, Keshaara was awake and almost ambulatory on her own. Loki hovered, as he was wont to do, and he kept all visitors away from her until Keshaara could stand and walk around on her own without exhaustion coming to overwhelm her. She had reacted surprisingly well to no longer having all the scars and tattoos she had once had, merely commenting in the half-dreaming fugue tone she had been using ever since she woke up that she could barely remember where those scars had come from anyway. They were no longer of a concern to her.

 Durnehviir evaded Loki’s ban on visitors to talk with Keshaara whenever he wanted. Odahviing was not quite so skillful, and was often kept out and away. Durnehviir would laugh when Odahviing invariably got caught again as he was already holding council with Keshaara about what to do with the dragons who had answered her call.

 Asgard was not equipped to handle dragons, and while they were very polite, the roosting tendency of the dragons was causing some issues with the general populace. Keshaara had no energy to try and open the planes of Oblivion to send the dragons away, and the very thought of trying made her knees go weak, and she had to sit and catch her breath. Something else would have to be done.

 Durnehviir tried to coach her through it until Loki caught him trying to help her cast a spell and nearly ripped the dragon’s arm from his socket as he forced the dragon away and out of the room. Durnehviir did not try again. Loki was as ferocious as any dragon could be, and Durnehviir respected that. Loki had every right to defend his mate.

 Loki, for his part, doted on Keshaara, fetching everything she could possibly want or need from her old room and bringing it to his own. His magic warped the rooms he had grown up in, blending the houses he knew she had made and grown old in into the design of his own culture. She complimented him heavily on his work after it was done, making snide comments about how it no longer seemed so outrageously gaudy, and was rewarded with a swift kiss and a cup of tea.

 Her body temperature was still far, far below what it had been. The healers would come by and take pinpricks of blood from her fingers and test her temperature, but they never said anything to Loki about what could be causing this exhaustion and temperature problem. That made him far more nervous than anything else. The war, the insane plots his brother was dreaming up, nothing mattered except Keshaara. She was ill, something was still wrong.

  _Norns, had he killed her anyway? After all this, was she still dying?_

 The answer, it came to pass, was far less life-threatening. And a little more mundane.

 He had been lying next to her, as he did when she slept, regardless of whether or not he was actually tired. Keshaara had told him as much, at least, and it was very hard to deny her such a simple request.

 But he had been obliging her and trying to swallow down the sense of dread that had taken up residence in his gut when he felt how cold she was when she had turned to him, still half-asleep, and pressed a kiss of her own to his neck. Loki tried to swallow down his groan of appreciation – Keshaara had had no energy for anything approaching sexual ever since she woke up and it was all he could do to keep himself from reveling in her rebirth by pressing a kiss over every place she had once been scarred. But her kiss morphed into an insistent bite as she swung her leg over his to straddle his lap.

 Loki grunted, trying to not read too much into the movement, but Keshaara was suckling on his skin hard enough that he could already feel the bruise blooming. The pain slashed through the first walls of his resolve, and he fumbled to put the book he had been reading on the side table as Keshaara kissed and licked his neck while grinding down onto his very-rapidly-hardening cock. Her fingers were nimble, as they had always been, and Loki was lying shirtless before he could really recognize that she had banished his clothes off of him with magic.

 Before he could _comment_ on the resurgence of her magic, her lips were slanted against his own and she was drawing constellations on his chest. Keshaara retraced every knife cut she had given to him the night he had proposed to her, then drew constellations over and over and over again while her mouth worked against his to pull a needling moan out of Loki’s chest. His hips kept twitching up to meet hers as she writhed atop him, and when she pinned his hands down by his head with an accompanying nip of his lower lip, Loki gasped her name.

 “ _Keshaara_.”

 With a laugh, Keshaara pulled back just far enough to look him in the eye.

 “ _Loki._ ”

 He growled at the way her voice curled around his name, and he had something else to say – it was on the tip of his tongue and he was certain now was as good a time as any to say it, but Keshaara had sealed her lips on the other side of his neck and was working towards giving him a very symmetric series of love-bruises all across his throat.

 Speaking of – she opened her mouth wide and gently bit the exposed column of his throat when he thrust his chin up. Her teeth pressed in on either side of his windpipe and the barest threat of her choking him like this had another gasping whine rippling out of him. Keshaara kept his hands _pinned_. Loki could not move them from her grip, even when he legitimately tried to do so. She was strong and she wanted his hands to stay where they were.

  _Norns_ that should not be as arousing as it was, but he couldn’t move his hands and his throat was in between teeth he had seen savaging flesh, and she was still grinding herself down onto his very distractingly hard cock.

 So no, it was all pretty well erotic.

 “Krojunsekrah,” she mumbled around his throat, trying his name on her new tongue. She could feel his magic reach for her, and knew it was in the naming that this could happen.

 “Yuvonjunniahkrin,” he replied, his voice rough as it rumbled through her teeth. He thrust up against her, just to feel the pressure, the friction, to try and approximate the physical need he had burning in his flesh.

 Keshaara released his throat, throwing her head back with a shocked gasp. The hands holding him down went from being cold and firm against him to blistering hot and pliable. Magic – her magic - shimmered in the air around her and she let the feeling of mage-blood rush through her again. Loki saw opportunity arise and took it, turning her quickly, laying her down on her back and pressing his body into hers. Her shirt was gone (by the _Nine_ he could feel her skin burning his again), and he was going to make short work of her skirt as she groaned and undulated beneath him.

 Neither of them was terribly aware of when the sex actually started. It was too much to take in all at once. It was skin and gasps and moans and pleasure and –

 “Lok-i!”

 “Kessshh.”

 They ended their tryst as they had started, with Keshaara in Loki’s lap, but her skin was as hot as the sun itself, and the air hummed with their magic. Or maybe that was an aftereffect of all their pleasured screaming, and their ears were just ringing.

 It did not matter.

 Keshaara leaned down to press her forehead to his, her eyes closed, and a post-orgasmic tremble echoing through her body. She shuddered when he pulled her flush to his body, a half-hearted complaint dying on her lips when he buried them both in the blankets on his bed. This time, when Keshaara slept, she slept well enough to banish the exhaustion that had plagued her. Magic fueled her, magic sustained her. She felt like she did not need to sleep, but it was hard to argue with the idea when Loki wrapped her in his arms and soaked her warmth into him.

 They slept.

* * *

Sadly, the rules about having non-married folk share rooms still applied and the dragons were horrible blabbermouths.

Dόmhildr came to collect Keshaara from Loki in the morning, scolding her Thane fiercely for such an egregious breach of proper conduct. Keshaara laughed, loud and bell-bright but went with Dόmhildr with the minimal amount of fuss. Loki made more objections than she did, trying to wheedle the servant into accepting Keshaara living with him _now_ because the marriage was imminent and it was merely a formality at this point.

Dόmhildr smacked his hand away from Keshaara and turned her diatribe on the Prince, to Loki’s shock. Keshaara was kind enough to not laugh as she gathered the few personal things that she had claimed as hers in her tenure in Loki’s – in _their_ rooms. Loki would not miss what she took anyway, and she had meant to finish this book, and he had no use for that decorative bowl other than to occasionally float flowers in it and Keshaara liked it so she took it with her.

 Her housecarl was still yelling at Loki’s apparently severe misunderstanding of what was permissible of a Prince when Keshaara breezed past her, carrying the things she now claimed as _hers_ in her arms. Loki made a token protestation when he saw his reflecting bowl under her arm, but she stepped close to him and silenced him with a kiss that left his mind spinning.

 “After you finally get around to marrying me, maybe I’ll give it back, my Prince.”

 He stared at her as she left, still burning from where her skin had touched him. Keshaara was _alive_ and _well_ and he had completely forgotten something important in his joy.

 Loki had much to do. The war could wait, and what would help his mother more than planning an extravagant wedding?

 Nothing, that’s what.

 (He could ignore the sinking in his stomach, he could, he could, he _could_ because admitting that there was something brewing, that he had been talking with his not-brother about what to do about the Aether and Jane would kill him as easily as he had killed her.)

 So it came to pass that a large gathering was called and scheduled, where Loki could make a formal proposal to Keshaara as was proper for a Prince. Odin may have objected but Keshaara _had_ saved Frigga’s life, something that the Queen had not let her husband forget. While Odin was out being grand and magnificent as he was wont to do, Keshaara saved the Queen of Asgard, knowing it meant that it was likely Keshaara was going to die herself.

 Keshaara had been told of the gathering’s long-distance date and had been getting ready, just as Loki had. The two rarely saw each other now. Dόmhildr seemed to be everywhere, every time Keshaara tried to sneak out to meet with Loki, Dόmhildr would find her, grab her by the ear and drag her back away from Loki’s rooms. Generally, this sort of play would be amusing, a good warm up to him finding her and then Keshaara being pressed into a tight corner and fucked soundly, but Dόmhildr was _everywhere_. Keshaara could not turn without seeing the diminutive housecarl staring at her, daring her to try and escape to Loki.

 She dared, but she was caught. Dόmhildr always knew.

 As much as Keshaara knew she should be preparing for the huge gathering, she really wanted to see Loki again. She was _alive_ and even if she had lost her scars and her tattoos and everything else that had connected her to the place that been home she had _Loki_. Or at least she **would** if Dόmhildr would get out of her way for fifteen minutes so she could find her betrothed and ravish him again.

 But alas.

 That did not happen. She was forced to focus on her own preparations, guided by Dόmhildr to a certain point, and then left on her own with Durnehviir and Odahviing (the other dragons had been sent home as soon as she had found her voice enough to shout a split into the void to send them away to the realm that was doomed) to plan the rest of things as appropriate. Dόmhildr was told of her changes to the plan and made the appropriate accommodations.

 The waiting nearly drove her up a wall. She wanted to be with Loki, and she was pretty certain he felt the same if the constant arguments from outside her rooms were anything to base that off of. She had thought to ask Dόmhildr why Loki no longer just appeared in her room like he had once done so, and the servant had whipped her head around faster than Keshaara had ever seen someone do so before.

 Keshaara was not one to often back away from a threat, but when Dόmhildr advanced on her with a barrage of questions, she would admit to taking a few hesitant steps back. She had to assure the woman that no, Loki had not come by since she had woken up from being pretty much dead, and Keshaara had to swear that she had not seen hide nor hair of the man she wanted to push up against a wall and fuck.

 Yes, the waiting was awful. But the day set for the meeting with the entire noble court was drawing closer and while Keshaara was still, agonizingly, barred from going to see Loki or be in his presence, she was allowed to go out of her room and walk around the palace…with Dόmhildr as her constant companion.

 Divines, the feeling of not having to constantly be focusing on her magicka and how it was being used made feeling the sudden, sharp, decrease in the overall amount she had worthwhile. The Daedra’s touch had no place on her now – the Keshaara that had been bound was dead. Dead and her soul could no longer be found. Keshaara did not want to think about whether or not that meant she was barred from Sovengarde, because she had no reason to think she would be dying any time soon.

 He had given her a new name and while she did not yet get the chance to talk about how he had managed to do that, Keshaara knew it meant something rather important. She had named him, and Loki had eventually returned the favor. Durnehviir was unhelpful in talking about what that could mean, saying only that she was the second child of Akatosh and her name was known, but not to be spoken. Alduin had never had his true name spoken, and neither would she. Not by another dragon, at least.

 It was frustratingly kind.

 She managed to distract herself by strengthening her friendships with the Warriors Three and Sif. They were people she understood. Warriors and fighters were easy to get along with, despite what other people complained about. It felt good to drill with them, too. The practice with a body that had no limitations, no scars that pulled or old wounds that still opened up at the most inopportune time.

 She had full vision in her left eye, too! That had taken some getting used to. Magic could only do so much and she had had some problems with peripheral vision, and colors, but it had not been such a critical flaw that she had sought any other way to see…with her eye healed though? Ah, it was like being young again! She had the body she had had when Loki had first come to Skyrim, sans even those scars. No longer did Harkon’s teeth mar her neck, or Alduin’s claws or anything else actually live in memory on her skin.

 There were some scars she would miss, of course. The ones her children had given her, little accidents as Khajit and Argonian children tried to understand what they were capable of. Those she would rather have back, but the trade off of not having to pray that she was not going to run out of magicka nearly made it worthwhile.

 Without the strings that had been holding her down, Keshaara was free to do…whatever. Whatever she wanted. There was nothing to keep her from what she wanted.

 She tried to explain the feeling while she was drinking with Sif after the two of them soundly beat the other three warriors around the ring. Keshaara sought the words to explain how the weight of thousands had been lifted from her, how in losing the name given by the Divines she had gained something so much more sublime. It was the end of an eclipse of the heart, it was the beginning of something so painfully _hers_ and hers alone that Keshaara had to stop and try and collect her thoughts about it all. How was she supposed to put it into words? To no longer be branded “Slave” by destiny, but to instead be given a name that meant nothing except what she made it mean. She was not a Slave, she was a Queen. A Golden Queen. Courage flowed through her, but there was no real task before her. Her destiny was, and now forever would be, her own.

  _She_ decided it.

 It was hard to put into words so she settled on sighing and drinking until her world tipped around her. After that she only wanted to find Loki and show him how good she was with her tongue because she really really really missed him and the best way to demonstrate that was with amorous touching. And stuff.

 Keshaara made it all the way to his rooms, which was quite the accomplishment, given how astute Dόmhildr had been at keeping the two apart. His door opened when she pushed on it, and Keshaara rushed inside, not wanting to give Dόmhildr the chance to stop her before she got to –

 “ _Loki_.”

 He was at his desk, working over something important, it seemed. Ink stained the back of his hand and there was a dark splash of it across his cheek where he must have rubbed it off. When he heard her voice, he jumped, looking to her with his eyes wide.

 Keshaara’s smile was drunkenly lopsided, but easily matched by Loki. He stood and embraced her, hugging her close. Which was, yes, nice, but not what Keshaara was after. She tilted her head so she could kiss the side of his neck. Keshaara quickly moved to nibbling and sucking because it was _Loki_ so of _course_ she did. He tasted like salt and seiðr, and there was no way for Keshaara to ever grow tired of that particular blend of tastes on his skin. It was Loki, all the way through.

 She was careful to hold him tight enough that he could not easily reciprocate, mouthing at the skin beneath that fucking _line_ of his jaw because she had always loved how it looked and felt. Momentarily, she paused, consumed with the idea of how it would really feel to straddle his jaw and have him trapped beneath her hips until she had cum enough to nearly drown him with her juices. Another time. Another time. She went back to administering all the kisses she had been so remiss in giving him.

 Loki squirmed beneath the affection, holding her close, grabbing her ass, rocking his head away from her ministrations. His words got stuck in his throat and all that he could muster were panted groans. He clutched her close to his body, grinding desperately against her.

 “ _My_ king,” she purred into his neck, and Loki saw fucking **stars**.

 Her back hit the wall with a loud thud, and Loki twisted her head so that he could kiss her properly. He buried his hands in her hair and _Norns_ , she was rocking her hips against his, giving him friction. Her mouth tasted like mead and wine and spice and her tongue spread that flavor around his mouth beautifully, and he needed more of it.

 The kiss was messy, sloppy, but they could both feel the urgency in the moment. Loki rolled his hips against hers, just wanting the feeling. Keshaara pulled him closer, not caring about anything but feeling him. There was no way to be close enough, no way that he could be anywhere approximating near enough to her for her to be satisfied, and the way Loki alternated between grabbing her close, pulling her tightly against him, and pushing her against the wall, crushing her in between his hard ( _very_ hard) body and the wall.

 Divines, the pressure that pushing created was…well, divine.

 It crushed the air out of her, making it hard to breathe, forcing her to huff air through breaks in their kissing, and that only made her ache the harder for Loki because now all her air tasted like him, and belonged to him when she exhaled.

 He pushed, and her head lolled to the side, and he worshipped the side of her neck she presented. Keshaara’s eyes rolled as Loki started to work her skirts high up around her waist with one hand as his other clutched the side of her neck he wasn’t attacking with his lips, the ball of his thumb digging into the side of her throat, making breathing even more difficult. Keshaara saw stars and jerked her hips towards Loki.

 She was maybe starting to get impatient.

 Loki grunted his acquiescence to her impatience and fumbled for his own pants, just trying to get his cock out of his pants and in to _her_. There had been things he had wanted to talk about with her, words to say, important things to note, to tell –

 “Oh, _fuck_ ,” was all he really managed as Keshaara’s blistering heat encased him.

 His florid swearing was matched by Keshaara, who slipped first into the language of Skyrim, and then further back into Morrowindish. Loki did not need to know the language to recognize his name and the words of appreciation as they finally began to move together.

 He pinned her hands above her head with one of his own, leaving the other free to grab her by her hips and pull her against him in sync with his thrusts.

 Keshaara choked on her screams, throwing her head back against the wall to cry her pleasure to his stars. He could feel how goddamned wet she was, her sweet, sweet juices soaking into his clothing. He had just barely managed to get his vambraces to stop smelling like her and now she was rubbing her scent back into his clothing and room all over again. Loki did not mind in the slightest.

 Keshaara came with an ear-piercing howl, clenching around Loki’s cock inside of her hard enough to make Loki gasp with the intensity of it all before his orgasm crashed through him. He rested his forehead against her shoulder, trying to catch his breath to tell her what she needed to know, because it was _important_ , damnitall, but then she was clenching around him again, using her inner muscles to squeeze his cock.

 His words failed him, and he could not decide if having her do _that_ when he was still so _sensitive_ was a good thing or a fucking _war crime_ , but Keshaara was whining his name and writhing for more. That decided him pretty fucking quickly.

 He picked her up, careful to keep his cock buried in her intoxicating heat, and when she giggled at his struggle to walk and stay inside of her and keep his pants from falling around his ankles, Loki shoved her against the closest wall. He thrust up into her, pinning her into the wall with the weight of his body alone, and bit down on her neck until that giggle turned into a throaty moan. Satisfied, he hefted her again and ignored the burning urge to lay her down on the floor and keep rutting into her. The bed was not much further and then they could continue.

 Keshaara whimpered with every step he took. It was an odd feeling, to be picked up and carried like this. _Especially_ because every step sent shockwaves of pleasure through her body. When he finally threw her down on his bed, and started stripping out of his clothing, Keshaara did the same, her finger fumbling with buttons and clasps as she tried, desperately to get out of the clothing so she could feel him again. He had to pull his cock out of her to strip out of his clothing, and they both whined with the absence of the other.

 The door to Loki’s rooms shook with the incessant pounding of someone who wanted in.

 “Keshaara, I _know_ you are in there! Come out at ONCE!”

 It was Dόmhildr, and she seemed fit to bursting. Keshaara and Loki looked at each other and smiled, and continued undressing. He leaned back down over her to kiss her again, pulling on her blouse, trying to work her out of her clothing, trying to move quickly because –

 “If you don’t get out of there right now I will go get Frigga _, so help me Keshaara._ ”

 That was probably the only thing that could make Loki stop. He froze, his hands stilling over her chest. Keshaara smiled and pulled him closer to her, biting his lip and suckling his neck and wrapping her legs around his waist even as he halfheartedly struggled to get away.

 He whispered his pleading words to her, about how…his mother was going to, Dόmhildr would tell her that, it was not proper because, they should not have done this before the, he needed to answer the door or, she was _really_ good at that but they had to, fucking good she smelled, fucking great her tongue felt on his neck like that, fucking fantastic it was to be inside of her again and-

 “Loki! Last warning or I’m going to tell Frigga!”

 He groaned into Keshaara’s neck, knowing he had to stop fucking her into his bed (the fact that she had managed to get him to do that when he was worried about Dόmhildr telling his mother was astounding (maybe not, he _did_ so like fucking her)) and not wanting to do so. No, he had her and he had wanted her and now she had to leave again. Dόmhildr would tell Frigga, he had no doubts of that.

 Loki withdrew from her slowly, grimacing at the loss of her. He looked down at her, half undressed and panting. Dόmhildr was still raising a ruckus so she had not yet gone to get Frigga, and Loki took as a good sign. He took a step back from her, trying to blink the image of Keshaara on his bed out of his eyes.

 “We’ll be right there, Dόmhildr, just give us a-a _hn_ , _Kesh, **please**_.”

 Keshaara had slid down his bed and knelt at his feet as he talked, and without enough preamble for him to notice and get her to stop, she had taken his cock into her mouth and very _energetically_ went about pleasuring him like that instead. Loki’s thoughts of getting her to stop all but vanished as soon as he felt her tongue curl around him coupled with the resonance of her self-satisfied hum rumble through him. His eyes rolled and he buried both of his hands in her hair, thrusting into her mouth instinctively. Keshaara smiled around his cock, and Loki swore, pushing his cock deeper into her throat.

 “Gods, _Kesh_.”

 “Mmmmmmmn?” she hummed, looking up at him with her hypnotic, color-whirling eyes.

 Loki’s last reserve of coherence left him at that moment and he grabbed the back of her head and shoving it down until his entire cock was seated inside Keshaara’s mouth. Her tongue did not still for a moment, twisting and licking as best it could. Pleasure _burned_ Loki so keenly that he could not still his own tongue and roared her name as he came again.

 It was with reluctance that he let her pull away from him. Loki shuddered as he watched her lick her lips and swallow. There was a beautiful blush on her cheeks from the desire that coursed through her, and Loki helped her to her feet. Dόmhildr was still screaming outside the door, and Keshaara smiled.

 “I guess I should go, my Prince.”

 Loki shrugged, and kissed her again, holding her close to him. Keshaara opened her mouth to him when he deepened the kiss and grabbed a hold of whatever clothing he had left on him, pulling him flush against her, trying to feel him for just a littlest bit longer.

 “My Queen, you won’t have to be gone long. There’s only a few more preparations to make, and then the grand announcement can be made, and then the wedding, and then we will never be parted.”

 “There was a lot of “and thens” in that, Loki. Why can you not declare me your wife and be done with it?”

 Loki laughed, and pulled his magic around him, dressing in a moment. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to bring it back into order instead of having it wildly sticking in every direction. Keshaara did the same, snapping her clothing back into place, though there was a new rip at the collar of her blouse from Loki’s eager pulling. She grinned at his sheepish expression, and kissed his cheek before turning away from him, towards the door.

 “Dόmhildr knows we were up to something, regardless. If I know you, I already have a few nice bruises on my neck, as well.”

 Loki growled playfully at her, smiling wolfishly at her and pulling her flush to him.

 “Already, Loki?” Keshaara asked, rocking her ass against his still-very-interested cock.

 His response was a grunt, and a tight grip on her hipbones.

 “I find myself unable to get enough of you, Kesh.”

 “LAST. WARNING. LOKI.”

 Dόmhildr’s scream got a laugh from Keshaara, and she wriggled out of Loki’s grasp. Loki made a plaintive sound of loss, and when Keshaara looked back over her shoulder, he pouted at her.

 “Divines, Loki, you look like a child who lost their sweet roll,” she said with a laugh, walking towards the door that Dόmhildr was still pounding on.

 Loki stared at her ass as she walked in front of him, a half-there smile on his lips. He stayed close to her, trailing his fingers absently down her back.

 “You could say that,” he purred as he reached down to cup her ass.

 Keshaara smacked his hand away, and opened the door for Dόmhildr. The servant girl opened her mouth to continue her diatribe, and was stopped quite soundly by Loki spinning Keshaara around and pinning her to the wall by the door with another ferocious kiss. Keshaara made a shocked exclamatory sound, echoed by Dόmhildr, but Loki snogged her fiercely, pinning her hands above her head and rolling his hips against hers until Keshaara was gasping his name.

 Only _then_ did he leave her be, stepping away with a smirk that made Keshaara growl. Dόmhildr stared, alternating between Keshaara and Loki, and then grabbed Keshaara by her sleeve and dragged her out of the room. Keshaara stumbled after her, looking back to the door, where Loki still stood, looking at her…first with lust then with a forlorn gaze that made her heart ache.

 Dόmhildr pulled her away, talking about how it was inappropriate, how it may be allowed because Loki was a Prince, but Keshaara was of a rank to not need to be beholden to her fiancé’s lusts. Because, yes Loki was a man of passions unrelenting, everyone in the palace knew that even if they did not know with whom Loki would share those passions with, and now that they were focused on Keshaara for whatever reason they shared between them, Keshaara needed to know that she was not, by any means, required to tend to him. If she insisted, though, Keshaara should at least know how to keep from becoming pregnant before the marriage. It would not be a huge problem, excepting that Dόmhildr had already started working on the dress, and it would not be possible for them to let the seams out unless Keshaara told Dόmhildr that she was pregnant within the next few days.

 Keshaara was going to laugh off Dόmhildr’s worry about her becoming pregnant because she had only ever been pregnant the one time and that had been after a _lot_ of sex and a _lot_ of magic, but the laughter died. All her scars had been undone. She could – oh – oh – oh – Keshaara clutched her stomach, and gave Dόmhildr a weak smile. There was no way she could be pregnant so soon after coming back to life.

 No way.

 She shook the worry away. Even if the marriage was not for a good long while, she could see to her not becoming pregnant until after the vows were said, if that was truly important here. Keshaara swallowed her nervousness down. She was not pregnant, not yet. After the marriage though? Keshaara flushed with the possibility. Dόmhildr did not comment on the blush Keshaara wore all the way back to her rooms, but did smile at her Thane as they passed across the doorway.

 “You can be with him soon, Keshaara. Come on now, I have dinner prepared and then you can go to bed. I will see if Frigga will allow the two of you some _supervised_ time together in the upcoming days before the announcement is made publically.”

 Keshaara nodded, and allowed Dόmhildr to lead her through the rest of the evening. There was no reason to try anything else uncouth tonight. She had had Loki. He had had her. That was enough, for now. But in the future, when she could wear the new armor she had been making for herself, in the style of Asgard and stand beside Loki as his wife and equal, she would never tire of him. Even if he was an obnoxious, self-involved tit at times, he was her King, her Prince, her Alunsegein as she had been told he would be all those years ago.

 It was the one time destiny did not hurt her.

 Destiny had given her Loki. And that made everything worth it.

* * *

The morning came with the sound of one of those airships the elves had used zipping past the palace. Keshaara was on her feet and at the railing to her porch faster than most of the guardsmen reacted, looking for the danger before it became a true danger to anyone there. But no danger presented itself, and the ship flew away, vanishing into thin air, leaving silence and confusion in the morning.

Dόmhildr wailed, and Keshaara ran to her, throwing open the doors to the public area, where her housecarl was clutching an emerald-green letter to her chest, eyes full of unshed tears.

 “Keshaara – it’s…”

 Keshaara did not want to hear the rest of it, and snatched the letter out of Dόmhildr’s hands. She read it quickly, and felt her world fall away from her. Without saying anything to Dόmhildr, Keshaara turned and ran, barefoot and still in her sleeping clothes, out of her room, across the palace, to Loki’s rooms. She threw the doors open wide, and was greeted with an empty room, with no sign of Loki in there.

 “Loki?!”

 She searched his rooms quickly, damn near ripping doors off their hinges in her rush to see if he was playing a game.

 “ _Loki!_ ”

 The rooms were empty. He was not there. Keshaara’s panic rose like bile in her throat and she looked for any clue that would tell her where Loki had gone. She saw his desk, and rushed to it, leafing quickly through the pages on it. Her heart sank lower in her gut as she recognized the work. She was a mage, and Loki’s magic and her own were of a similar enough form that she could understand what he was intending to do. Go somewhere far from Asgard, bait the elves out there, and end the battle _there_ , away from civilian casualties.

 Away from her.

  Keshaara dropped into his chair, trying to fight back the tears that threatened to spill from the corners of her eyes. She covered her face with her hands, curling into a small ball as she let her emotions wash over her. Loki had gone off to do this stupid thing and it did not think to include her. None of his notes made any mention of bringing her, in fact, all the notes she looked at made specific note of how to accomplish this task with only _one_ mage.

 He had not brought her on purpose. Two mages would have been better. She could have stayed hidden, out of sight, away from them, just to remain as backup.

 Thor, Jane, and Loki. A world away from her, battling the forces of the Dark Elves to try and protect the Nine Realms from their madness. She was alone, separated by his choice, for reasons he had not written down.

 Keshaara sat at his desk, head in her hands and prayed to the Divines who could no longer hear her. She just wanted Loki back. She wanted him back. Let him come home safe to her. Please, she had so much life left in her.

  _Just don’t let me be alone again._

 Keshaara’s fervent prayer went on for hours until she heard the hasty approach of feet outside the room. It was the only thing that could rouse her – the thought that it might be Loki coming back to his rooms, battle-worn, but triumphant. She rose out of the chair, a hand resting on the papers on the desk. Hoping against all hope that it was her Loki come to her, she lifted her gaze to the door.

 It wasn’t Loki.

 The words came, and her world shattered around her. Her wail pierced the heavens, and was matched by the dirge-song of the dragons who rushed to her side to help her, to support her, to offer what they could in return for her loss. She clung to them both in desperation, her screams of pain tearing her throat open.

 Keshaara was vaguely aware of Durnehviir Odahviing holding her up so that she would not fall to the ground. She was kneeling, sobbing, and _screaming_ and the only thing keeping her from collapsing entirely were the dragons arms around her. She wanted nothing more than to tear the air apart with her sorrow. There was nothing left for her. No home, no Skyrim, no Tamriel, nothing. There had only been what she had wanted. And now that was gone.

 She had been happy.

 

 

She should have known better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus ends Kapp Eða Kaldr. The last part of the story of the Jotun Prince and Dragonborn will be told in "Cold Courage", and it will be my NaNoWriMo 2014 project novel, so hopefully it will be updated pretty quickly. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading along so far! Let me know what you think, I love reading your messages. 
> 
> -Darkarashi


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